To Catch A Predator
by paganpunk2
Summary: Bruce, Dick, and Alfred take their first ever family vacation. However, since nothing ever goes as planned for the Dynamic Duo, they stumble into a crime that only Batman and Robin can solve. Part of the Spark in the Dark series.
1. Chapter 1

"Well?" Bruce asked, one eyebrow arched expectantly as he watched Leslie prod at the incision scar marking his ward's lower right side. "What's the verdict?"

"It healed well," she said finally, stepping away and stripping off her gloves. "There's remarkably little scar tissue, considering that Dr. Montoya had to go in a second time."

Thinking back on the events of roughly three months earlier, the billionaire grimaced. A lucky hit during a takedown of a credit card heist had burst Robin's appendix, which – unbeknownst to Batman – had already been inflamed. The boy hadn't said anything about his extreme discomfort until the next morning, when he'd been unable to hold the pain back any longer and had finally expressed it in a feverish fit that still slipped into Bruce's nightmares every few days. By the time they'd gotten him into emergency surgery at Gotham Memorial, he'd worked up a nasty case of peritonitis and the beginnings of sepsis. Once the infections were under control, he'd developed an abscess that had required another trip to the OR. The entire time, Bruce and Alfred had been forbidden from contacting him, restrained by a Gotham Child Protective Services agent with dastardly plans of his own for Dick that only failed due to the combined forces of Batman and Superman.

"So I'm completely healed?" the teen asked, sitting up and pulling his shirt on.

"More or less. Here, let me look at your mouth before I go." In his struggle to contain his cries during the agonized episode that had alerted Bruce and Alfred to his distress, he had bitten completely through his lower lip, requiring stitches. Peering at where the sutures had marked the inside of his mouth, Leslie frowned. "You chew on it frequently, don't you?"

"It's just a reflex," he shrugged.

"Try to stop. At the rate you're going you won't have any sensitivity left there in another ten or fifteen years. I'm amazed you didn't bite through it before, with as many scars as there are. Do you ever wake up with it bleeding?"

"Occasionally, if I have a really bad dream. Maybe like once or twice a month."

Bruce gave him a piercing look. _Why did I not know about that?_

"If I prescribed you a mouth guard, would you wear it?"

"Probably not. By the time I get home most nights I'm way too tired to deal with something like that."

She sighed. "Well, if you change your mind and want to try one, let me know. Even just putting it in on nights when you don't go out on patrol would help."

"There aren't many of those these days," Dick informed her. "I've been running rooftops almost every evening."

"I advised you to make him wait at least two weeks after the stitches came out before doing anything strenuous," she chastised Bruce, crossing her arms.

"He still didn't let me out for another week," the boy said quickly, trying to cover for his guardian. "Even then, all I got to do for two _more_ weeks was hang around in the shadows and birdarang people."

"You shouldn't have been out at all."

"He was needed," Bruce said, his voice low. "The fall of the Pezzoli syndicate left a vacuum that a lot of different people were trying to fill. You know the action was higher than normal until a few weeks ago." It had been so much more intense, in fact, that he had seriously considered rescheduling their beach trip. Several days of stony looks from Alfred and the fact that things on the streets had finally started to settle were the only reasons he had not done so.

"I'm well aware of that, thank you. My clinic has been full of so many gangsters bearing stab wounds and baseball bat imprints that I was beginning to think for a while that you'd taken your vacation early." Seeing them both stiffen, she closed her eyes and shook her head. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm sure it would have been much worse had you not been out there, doing what you do. Batman _and_ Robin," she conceded grudgingly.

"You know…" Dick said slowly, "technically he made me wait longer than you asked him to. To do anything strenuous, I mean."

"…I know, hon." Sighing, she gathered the few things she'd brought down to the cave with her. "Was there anything else? You're both out of town this weekend, right? I don't have to worry about any midnight calls from you?"

"No calls," Bruce confirmed.

"We're going to the beach," Dick grinned, obviously excited as he jumped down from the table. "Oh, hey, that reminds me! Do you think I'm in good enough condition to go deep sea fishing?"

His smile was infectious, and she couldn't help but give him one of her own. "Deep sea fishing?" It didn't sound like the sort of activity Bruce would go in for, but she knew there was no way he'd let the boy do something like that on his own. It would be good for him to step outside of his comfort zone, even if he had to be dragged kicking and screaming by his son. "I don't see why not," she said with a wink. "So long as you agree to hand the pole to Bruce if you hook anything that seems to be over 500 pounds."

"Deal."

"What is it with you and the fishing?" the man grumbled.

"I've never _been_ deep sea fishing, and it looks really cool. Don't you want to see a fish bigger than the person who caught it?"

"If I do, I'll go down to the docks and watch them unload."

"That's not the same as if you actually catch it yourself. Plus, fish is good."

"And quite good for you, as well, Master Dick," Alfred tacked on as he reached the bottom of the stairs. "Hello, Dr. Thompkins."

"Hi, Alfred. How are you?"

"Quite looking forward to our little foray north this weekend, actually. It won't do us a bit of harm to get some fresh sea air," he directed at Bruce, who still looked disgruntled.

"The city is stifling this time of year," the doctor nodded. "I wish I could send all of my post-operative patients to the beach for a few days. Bathing in natural environments can work wonders for some people. It's very relaxing," she said, glancing pointedly at Bruce.

"It's the North Atlantic, Leslie, not Lourdes," the billionaire countered. "Cold and briny."

"It won't be cold in July," Dick argued. "I mean, not in the shallows, at least."

"Exactly. With that in mind, I highly recommend at least one swim per day. For each of you," she directed. "Just watch for sharks and undercurrents. Try to think of it as taking your vitamins, Bruce," she said, reaching over to pat his arm before allowing Alfred to escort her back upstairs and through the manor to her car. "Have fun!"

Once she was gone, Bruce turned to watch Dick, who had pulled himself onto the higher of the uneven bars and hung upside down by his knees, arms dangling. "What?" he asked when he realized he was the object of scrutiny.

"Why didn't I know that you wake up bleeding from nightmares?"

"I'm not eight any more, Bruce. I don't come crawl into bed with you every time I've had a bad dream like I used to. Besides, Alfred knows I bite my lip sometimes when I'm sleeping; I just figured he'd have told you."

"How does he know?"

"He cleans my pillowcases the same as he does yours. He thought I was having bloody noses until he suggested getting a humidifier for my room and I told him it wouldn't help. He probably didn't say anything to you because he didn't want you to worry more than you already do."

"Maybe. That's not really the point, though."

"Can't I have _any_ secrets from you, Bruce? Is it that big of a deal?"

_Until lately you never __wanted__ to have secrets from me,_ the billionaire thought with a twinge of sadness. "I suppose so long as Alfred knows about the things you keep from me, it isn't."

"Well, that's better than what I expected you to say, at least." Dropping onto his hands, he sprung away from the bars and landed in a roll that brought him to his feet. "I missed that," he commented. "I _hated_ lying around all day, not being allowed to move."

"Don't get hurt and you won't have to put up with it again." Sitting down in front of a computer, he began to review a file he'd been compiling for several days.

"…I could be upset about the obviousness of that statement, but I know you're just being overprotective, so I'll curb it."

"Good," he said, distracted.

"You're welcome. So, what are we taking with us?"

"The entire house, based on the boxes Alfred has stacked in the foyer. I swear he thinks we're moving instead of just going out of town for four days."

"I _meant_ stuff from down here."

"…None of it," he answered, grimacing.

"_Huh?!"_

Bruce sighed. He'd asked Alfred to pack a few basics, just in case they were needed, but had met intense resistance. "This is a _vacation_, Master Wayne," the butler had reminded him. "At such times, the idea is that one releases everyday concerns and tries to live in the moment. The nearest population center to where we will be staying contains less than 1,000 persons and has a violent crime rate of next to nothing. It's also half an hour away from our lodgings. I don't imagine that you'll find much use for your costumes there, do you?" Bruce had tried to argue that they might need them if something happened in Gotham that they had to return to take care of, but there had been an answer to that, too. "You did inform Mr. Kent of this pending absence, correct? I'm sure that if anything of magnitude occurs, he will dispatch members of the JLA to handle it. Goodness knows you've covered your share of other heroes' much-deserved breaks."

Knowing that the Englishman wasn't going to budge, he'd dropped the issue. _Maybe he's right,_ he'd considered. _Clark said Gotham would be taken care of in the event of anything major. Even if something happens in the town we're going to be near, we don't really know enough about the area to be much help, except maybe in a real crisis situation. _He had to admit, the odds of there being anything Batman and Robin could do for a quiet little place like the one they were going to were very low.

Despite all of that, he still didn't like the thought of being so far from his cowl. It felt like he was leaving a limb at home.

"…Bruuuuuce," Dick drew out, waving a hand in front of his face. He'd clearly been trying to get his attention for several seconds. "Hey. We're_ really_ not taking anything? I don't know if I like that. I mean, what if something happens?"

"I've hashed it all over with Alfred. We're not taking anything with us. We'd need another whole suitcase just for _my_ gear, let alone yours, and the car's already going to be packed with his idea of the 'bare essentials.'"

"…Masks? We could fake costumes if we had to." He shuffled his feet. "It seems wrong not to at least have masks with us, Bruce."

He considered it, proud of the fact that Dick was so adamant about being able to fight crime if the need arose. He glanced towards the stairs to make sure they were still alone in the cave, then dropped his voice. "Tuck it in your backpack. He might insist on unpacking your clothes, but he won't go through your personal bag without permission."

The teen drew closer. "Do you want me to pack a cowl, too? I can take out a couple of books to make room."

"No," he shook his head. "It would be too bulky. Plus, how would you explain if someone other than us saw it?"

"I'm fourteen. Anyone on the planet would believe I'm a Batman fanboy in an instant. It would be weird if it was found in _your_ bag, but in mine, no one would look twice. You're rich enough to afford to buy me the really good imitation models, so that would explain why it doesn't look or feel like the crappy plastic ones they put out in stores."

It was a tempting offer, but still too risky. "…Just pack a spare mask of yours. I can make do with that if I have to."

"Okay. You're the boss," he shrugged, picking up a training staff and beginning to spin it.

"Don't forget the spirit gum. Those masks will be completely useless if we can't keep them on our faces."

"I've already got some upstairs in an old cologne bottle."

"…Why?"

"In case I ever want to sneak out of the house in disguise but you or Alfred is down here."

"That means you have a costume upstairs, too," Bruce growled, turning his chair around and facing the boy, who was enacting a complicated litany of steps behind the blur of his weapon. "You know better than that."

"I do _not_ have a Robin costume upstairs. Nor a Batman one," he added, leaping and ducking. "I'm not stupid, you know. Keeping all possible physical evidence of Batman and Robin out of the house was practically the first thing you taught me, remember? All I have is a plain mask and a set of clothes that I've never worn outside but that I could easily fight in. I've never actually snuck out," he insisted, glancing over and seeing the look the man still wore. "I just keep it around in case I ever need to. I figured you'd _like_ that. You're the one who always says I should be prepared for anything."

"Dick…" he started, then trailed off. He really couldn't be upset with him, not for that. He probably would have done the same thing, had their situations been reversed. "Only use it in emergencies, all right?"

A lightning grin flashed. "Sure. I mean, that's why I keep it. For emergencies."

"Emergencies like sneaking out past Alfred and I."

"You could be replaced by pod people. Or be put under mind control. Or it could be an impostor, just _acting_ like you or Alfred."

"…You have spent far too much time thinking of reasons why you might have a legitimate excuse to sneak out of your bedroom window in a makeshift costume."

"What can I say? Class gets boring sometimes."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. Did you pack yet?"

"Nope. Thought I'd do it after dinner." He spun in a full circle and thrust the staff out in front of himself at chin level, a move that would have cold-cocked anyone who got in the way of it. "What about you?"

His forehead knit as he turned to the screen again. "No. I'll have Alfred take care of it."

"Cheater," he accused, hoping it would draw a reaction. Bruce had been in a less than wonderful mood all afternoon, and he knew it would carry over into their last patrol for the week – and, potentially, into their vacation - if it wasn't counteracted by something soon. He'd found in the past that a good sparring match usually did the trick, and goading the man into one was generally pretty easy when there wasn't a hot case open.

"Excuse me?" Having heard the challenge in the boy's tone, he whipped back around.

"I called you a cheater." Dick leaned against the pole in his hands and shot Bruce a taunting look, his eyes dancing. "You want to do something about it?"

The billionaire glanced back at the file appraisingly, then stood up. _What the hell, I can't focus on it right now anyway. _Stalking to the stand, he selected a staff of his own and took up a position opposite his son. "Okay, little bird. You asked for it."

"Bring it on."


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred's throwing back of the curtains to reveal an early morning sun was not met with delight from the man still abed. "What the hell kind of time do you call this, Alfred?" Bruce groaned.

"Six thirty, Master Wayne."

"…Don't people sleep in on vacation?"

"They do, sir. However, we have some distance to travel today, and Master Dick is quite anxious to get on the road."

"You mean he's awake at this ungodly hour?"

"He rose an hour ago, and has already showered, breakfasted, and assisted me with the loading of the car."

"…Just not natural," the billionaire mumbled, burying his face back into the pillows.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"Nothing," he shook his head before looking up to find Alfred standing ready with his robe. "He's really excited, isn't he?"

"Ecstatic is the word I would use, Master Wayne. He ate so quickly I feared he would make himself sick."

A heavy sigh. "All right. I'm getting up." Hauling himself out from under the covers, he accepted his dressing gown and shuffled towards the bathroom, the sounds of the butler swiftly making the bed following him.

Returning a short time later only slightly more alert, he wondered how much additional sleep he could get away with if he were to lie back down. _Twenty minutes? Thirty? I shouldn't have turned the water off. Maybe Alfred would have heard it going from the hall and thought I was just taking a very long shower._ Deciding to test his theory, he stepped back into his bedroom to find Dick stretched out across the bed, kicking his feet and staring at the ceiling. "What are you doing?" he asked irritably, feeling his chances of a little extra shut-eye evaporate.

"Waiting for you, slowpoke."

"Did you have to get up so early?" he inquired as he began to dress wearily.

"I couldn't sleep, so I figured why lay around in bed?"

Bruce glanced at him in the mirror, a trace of worry drawing a vertical line between his eyebrows. _You couldn't sleep because you were excited, or because you had a bad dream? _"Why couldn't you sleep? You were exhausted last night. I practically had to carry you upstairs."

"Dunno. Just ready to go to the beach, I guess." From his tone, Bruce knew it was more than that, but decided not to push it. They were supposed to be starting what was essentially their first ever family vacation; the last thing he wanted to do was dampen the mood by dragging out the kind of memories that inspired sleep terrors.

"…Me, too, chum," he yawned.

"Clearly," the teen replied sarcastically. "Didn't you go to bed the same time I did?"

"Yes, but unlike you _I_ was able to get to sleep and stay there, at least until Alfred opened the drapes."

"I told him sunlight was a bad idea, but he didn't believe me when I said it might make you dissolve."

The quip earned a short laugh. Finished dressing, Bruce joined him on the bed, laying opposite of him so that their heads were at each other's feet. "I'm glad we're doing this, Dick," he told him quietly after several minutes of silence had passed. It was the truth; as unhappy as he was to be leaving Gotham without her protector for three nights, the prospect of spending four whole days, unbroken by work or school, with the boy more than overwhelmed his hesitations. The recent double threat of losing him to either illness or a sick, twisted person had been looming in the back of his mind, driving him to make an effort to spend more quality time with his son. In addition, Dick was growing up, a fact that had been slipping past Bruce for six years almost unnoticed. Realizing as much had been another factor in his determination to create more happy memories before the teen beside him went out to conquer the world on his own terms.

"Me, too. It's going to be awesome."

"…Are you intent on this whole fishing thing?" He didn't like the idea, but it kept coming up.

"I'd really like to do it," Dick admitted. "But I also know it isn't your idea of a fun activity. If you seriously don't want to, we don't have to. I won't be upset."

The man closed his eyes. _Of course you wouldn't be upset. You'd just be disappointed, and that's worse. _The last thing he wanted to do was taint the weekend with a sense of uncooperativeness before it even began, something he sensed he'd be doing by refusing to go along with this whim. _ I can't believe I'm agreeing to this_, he sighed internally_._ "I'm not going to jump for joy or anything, but we can do it. Call it your reward for pulling a 4.0 despite missing the last month of school."

"Excellent!"

"_You_ have to set it up, though, find a charter and all of that once we get there. Make sure you find someone who's willing to take just you, Alfred and I – I don't want to be stuck out in the middle of the ocean with a bunch of strangers."

"I can do that. Thanks, Bruce." Bouncing to his feet, he gave him a smile. "You're awesome. Ready to go?" he asked, offering his hand.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Bruce agreed, taking it and allowing himself to be pulled up. "Hey," he stopped him, holding on for an extra second to keep him from heading for the door. "Did you pack the masks?"

"Of course. And the gum." _And a couple of other things that might come in handy, too,_ he didn't add.

"Good. Let's go, then."

Alfred was waiting expectantly at the bottom of the stairs with a muffin and a banana in his hands. "Master Wayne," he addressed, handing the foodstuffs over. "Your breakfast."

"…I am _not_ eating in the car."

"We're already behind schedule, sir. I'm afraid there's no time for a sit down meal."

"I need caffeine."

"Starbucks run!" Dick said delightedly, flying to the front door and throwing it open. "There's one right off the freeway, on exit 137C, Alfred."

"Very well, Master Dick. In case you can't wait, Master Wayne, there is a thermos of coffee for you in the backseat."

"…How do you know about a Starbucks on the other side of town?" Bruce asked Dick quizzically after giving Alfred a nod.

"You made me memorize the city grid years ago, including all of the highway ramps. Plus, we always stop there when we go to that end of town on field trips. That's up by all the museums and stuff, you know." He jumped the three broad steps down to the ground effortlessly.

"They give high schoolers coffee? Aren't you all jittery enough already?" the man inquired as he came down the stairs in a more civilized manner. "My god, what kind of school am I paying forty thousand dollars a year for you to go to?"

Dick blinked at him, a little stupefied by the price tag on his education. "Wow, that's a lot. Ouch. I bet the people whose kids fail all their classes get really pissed."

"Language, Master Dick!" the butler reminded.

"Sorry, Alfred," he blushed slightly.

"Well, you're an expensive habit," Bruce teased, amused by his abashed expression. "And you better make sure I never find out what it feels like to pay forty thousand dollars in tuition and then have your kid flunk."

"…If I agree to that, can I get a trenta java chip frappuccino?"

"If you _don't_ agree, I'm sending you to public school next year. I don't even think they _have_ field trips, let alone ones that make side stops at overpriced coffee stands."

"_Delicious_ overpriced coffee stands, Bruce. It's an important distinction. And you know I won't fail any classes, unless someone gives me a lobotomy over the summer."

"Not funny." He could think of a couple of different enemies who might consider that an amusing experiment, and at least one of them wasn't currently incarcerated.

"So…yes to the frappuccino?"

"…You know what, Dick? This is a vacation." He shrugged and climbed into the car. "If we're going to do this, let's do it right. Get whatever you want."

The teen and the butler shared a glance. "This is going to be great, isn't it?"

"I believe it has the potential to be so, young sir. Now, shall we?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey, Alfred. Look at this," Bruce said, low, roughly three hours after they'd left the city limits of Gotham. The butler glanced in the rear view mirror to find Dick slumped against the window, eyes shut, head cradled by his seatbelt. Across from him Bruce was smirking, peeking up over the top of the newspaper he'd snagged at their last bathroom stop. "He gets me up out of bed at an inhumane hour, then has the nerve to go and do that. Can you believe it? He drank that entire…_thing_ that he ordered, too. Caffeine's supposed to keep you awake, not rock you to sleep."

"I don't believe he got much rest last night, Master Wayne," Alfred informed him gravely.

"No, he said he didn't." Sobering, he gazed at the boy. "Was there blood on his pillow this morning?"

The butler couldn't quite hide his startled look at the question. "Sir?"

"He said yesterday that he bites his lip during bad dreams and wakes up bleeding. At least, that's what he told Leslie. Then he told me that you've known about it for a while." The tone of his last sentence was mildly accusing.

"He requested my complicity. I obliged him only because he wasn't causing serious damage to himself; usually it's just a drop or two about once a fortnight. It's generally no worse than the minor injuries you give yourself in bed from time to time."

"_Usually _only a drop or two?"

"I have gone through a fair bit more bleach than normal since he came home from the hospital, sir. He's bled four out of the last five nights. In the interest of not spoiling the trip by causing you concern, I planned on speaking to you about it upon our return home. "

"…Erwin," Bruce breathed, cursing the pedophilic CPS agent who he had no doubt was the root cause of Dick's recent dreams. "Goddamn it. I'd hoped we were past this."

"I suppose we should just be grateful that man didn't get any further along in his plans than he did, Master Wayne. I'm sure the nightmares will fade with time." _Or when he sees something worse than his current bogeyman while out on patrol, _he thought, his mouth tightening slightly as he turned onto a dirt road.

"…Should I say something to him about it?"

"Why don't you wait and see if the situation continues while we're here? The change of scenery may be enough to keep those particular nightmares at bay, in which case bringing them up will only upset him. There's no point in doing that unless you have to, especially this weekend."

"Mm. You have a point." Falling silent, he stared at the passing scenery pensively. Just as he turned to ask the butler another question, the front end of the car dipped into a massive pothole.

"_Ow!_" Dick exclaimed, waking violently as the jolt threw him into the window with a resounding crack.

"Are you okay?" Bruce queried immediately, wincing at the noise. "That sounded painful."

"It was," the boy groaned, leaning forward to hold his suddenly pounding head with both hands.

"My sincerest apologies, Master Dick," Alfred said contritely. "I'm afraid I didn't see it in time to slow down. You're not hurt, are you?"

"…I think I'm okay," he said, trying not to move. It felt like there was an ice pick being driven into his skull just above his left temple, but he didn't think he'd hit hard enough to give himself a concussion.

There was a click as Bruce unfastened his seatbelt and slid closer, oblivious to the fact that they were still shimmying over washboard gravel. Resting a hand on his shoulder, he gently pushed him back against the seat. "Let me see," he ordered, running his fingers through ebony locks until he found the spot that elicited a moan and a slight flinch. "There?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, you're going to have a hell of a bump, that's for sure," he sighed, already feeling swelling. "Once we're not bouncing around we'll check everything else."

"Okay."

"We're nearly there, sirs," Alfred informed them. "It should only be another mile or so." There didn't appear to be any more monster dips, but he slowed down drastically just in case. "Here we are," he said a few minutes later, swinging the vehicle to a stop in front of a log bungalow.

"Oh, cool," Dick murmured, hissing slightly as he turned his head to look. Eager to explore despite the maelstrom behind his eyes, he unbuckled and reached for the door only to find the butler opening it for him and blocking his escape. He frowned.

"Checks first, Master Dick," Alfred insisted, peering at him concernedly as he raised a hand. "How many fingers?"

"Three."

"And now?"

"Two."

"Stand up, please," he requested, backing up to let him exit the car. The boy climbed out with less than his usual energy, but stood solidly. "No dizziness or nausea?"

"No. My head just hurts."

"Walk to the porch and back, if you would. Don't climb the stairs," he added. Bruce stepped around the car to stand beside him, also watching closely for any sign of stumbling or disorientation. Dick made an easy turn at the base of the steps, however, and covered the distance back to them with no apparent difficulty.

"Good?"

"…Yes, I believe so. You will say something immediately if you begin experiencing any warning signs," Alfred said, his words coming out as an order rather than a question. _Thank god he doesn't seem to have a concussion. I would never have forgiven myself if I had fouled the entire trip by hitting that crater in the middle of the road._

"Okay. Do we have any aspirin? I _do_ have a headache."

"I'll get you several. It may take a minute to find, I believe it's in one of the first boxes we packed." Squeezing his shoulder briefly with one hand, the butler turned back to the car to begin unloading.

"Want to check things out while he finds your pills?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah!" As they circled around the outside of the house the gaiety of earlier in the day snuck back into the teen's expression, kindling a similar, if more subdued, elation in the man accompanying him. "Oh, wow, Bruce, look, there's a huge deck back here!"

"…Is that a fire ring in the middle?"

"_No way_." Dick clambered up to check, his headache momentarily forgotten in a wave of nostalgia as he recalled long, dark evenings spent around campfires when the circus was on the road. "We are so using that tonight. And tomorrow. And the night after that." He took in the surrounding forest. "These trees are amazing. They're even bigger than the ones around the manor."

"And those are some of the oldest trees in Gotham," Bruce informed him. "These are probably several hundred years old, if not more," he guessed, craning his head back to see the tops of the specimens lining the clearing in which the cottage stood. "I'll bet that's the path to the beach," he pointed out, gesturing towards a trail that vanished between the trunks. "Alfred said it's only an eighth of a mile or so to sand."

"…Let's look at the house first, and go to the beach later."

"Sure," Bruce conceded. He didn't blame him for wanting to take an aspirin before attempting a hike, considering that his head had made such a noise hitting the glass that the billionaire had thought he'd cracked the pane. Finding the back door unlocked, they stepped into the cool cabin and let their eyes adjust. The ceiling stretched to a height of nearly twenty feet over the living room, falling back to ten above the kitchen and dining areas to lend the large open space a sense of division. A door at the base of the stairs led to what proved to be a tiny but serviceable bathroom, and the steps themselves gave access to two small bedrooms. "There are three beds up there, right?" he called to Dick, who had gone up ahead of him.

"Yup. Two in the big room, one in the little."

"You and I are sharing. Alfred gets up way too early to bunk with anyone normal, he can have his own room." _Plus, I'll be the first to know if you're still having nightmares about that bastard._

"Works for me," the teen grinned, coming back down the stairs and moving to inspect the living room. Flopping down on one of the couches, he stretched and yawned. "Sweet, a fireplace!"

"…You do realize we have about a dozen of those at home, right?"

"Well _yeah_, but none of ours are made out of cool rocks like this one," he argued. "Marble and brick are pretty and all, but this place…" He paused, gazing around at the open-beam construction, the plank floors, and the generally woodsy feel of the furnishings. "This place is amazing. It reminds me of something, I just can't figure out what."

"It looks like a ski lodge."

He shrugged, closing his eyes. "I wouldn't know. You never take me with you on those trips."

"That's because they're business trips. I don't particularly want to go on them, but I have to sometimes."

"We found this beach on a business trip, remember?"

"…That's true. We did." _I wonder what the post-conference conversations would be like now compared to four years ago,_ Bruce mused. _Probably brilliant._ "Maybe if I have to go to one this winter you can come with."

His eyes flew open. "Really?"

"Well, you _did_ tell a judge that you intend to become my business partner after college. You should probably start backing that up by learning more about what we do."

"…So do you actually _want_ to take me, or are you just trying to support the story we gave the court?"

Bruce shot him a look. "If I didn't want you to come with me, Dick, I wouldn't have suggested it."

"…I know. Sorry."

"It's okay." _I should have been bringing you along as it was, at least on the resort trips where we might have had some fun. It was my loss, really. _

The front door opened, letting a box-laden Alfred inside. Setting his load down on the counter, he glanced about the kitchen once, nodded as it met with his satisfaction, and went about pouring a glass of water. "Here you are, Master Dick," he said, leaning over the back of the couch to hand him the aspirin. "These should help."

"Thanks, Alfred." Sitting, he downed the pills, then handed his empty cup back. "Oh, wow, the water's really good here."

"The owner informed me that the property is plumbed from a well."

"It's way better than what we drink at home."

"I don't doubt it, young sir. Gotham city water is not known for its palatability. I expect we'll find that it makes quite a difference to tea, as well." He paused. "On another note, I planned on running into the town to procure some fresh seafood for dinner this evening. Would either of you care to join me, or have you already made other plans?"

The other two exchanged a look. "I need to find someone who will take us out fishing," the teen said. "But what do _you_ want to do, Bruce? I mean, it's your vacation too," Dick pointed out.

"Town's fine with me," the billionaire replied, smiling a little at the boy's frank concern that he have a good time as well. "Maybe when we get back we can walk down to the beach before dinner," he suggested, hoping that throwing an activity out might appease his son's generous nature.

"That sounds good," he agreed, smiling. "Do you need help unloading before we go, Alfred?"

"Don't you still have a headache?" Bruce frowned.

"Yeah, but we brought a lot of stuff with us. Besides, it's not as bad as it was before."

"Thank you, Master Dick, but despite Master Wayne's comments about my having packed everything short of the kitchen sink it won't take too long to move the luggage inside," the butler demurred.

"Oh. Okay." As Alfred left to finish emptying the car, he laid back down with a yawn. "Sleepy," he murmured, his eyes slipping shut again.

"…Dick?" Bruce asked, his voice carrying a hint of worry.

"I'm not that kind of tired," he assured without looking at him. "I just didn't get much sleep last night, that's all. It's not because of my head, I promise."

He vacillated for a moment. _He __was__ asleep in the car before he got thrown into the window,_ he reminded himself. _If he got less sleep than I did last night, which sounds like the case, then he's probably exhausted. I know I am._ "It's not quite eleven," he mentioned after a peek at his watch. "We could take a nap before we go into town. I'm sure Alfred won't mind."

"Mmkay."

"Why don't we move upstairs?"

"Alfred…clothes…" he muttered back, turning so that his face was against the back of the sofa.

_Alfred clothes? _Bruce puzzled. _Oh. Alfred will want to unpack our clothes._ "We'll be just as much in his way down here, you know." There was no answer. "Dick?" It was pointless; the teen was fast asleep. Chuckling quietly, he pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and covered him with it, then lifted his head just enough to slip a pillow underneath, mindful of the sore spot. As he straightened, the butler came in with another load.

"…Sir? Everything all right?" he asked.

"Naptime," came the response, followed by a yawn and a stretch. "I think I might join him. Can we put off going into town for a little while?"

"Certainly, Master Wayne. Will it disturb you if I continue moving things in?"

"Not if I go as fast as he did, it won't. He swears it's not because of his head," he added, seeing the other man's brow crease. "I think he's fine. Just tired, like I am."

"Very well, sir. Shall I wake you both at one? That will give you two hours."

"That's fine, Alfred." Receiving an acknowledgment, he made himself comfortable on the other couch, spared another look at his son, and then shut out the world and joined him in slumber.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Sorry everyone, I'm not going to have a second chapter for Two-fer Tuesday this week. This chapter is longer than usual, though, so hopefully that makes up for it a little. :) Happy reading!**

"Master Wayne? It's one o'clock, sir."

The familiar voice broke through the veil of sleep, dragging him to the surface of consciousness. "…Already?" he queried slowly.

"Yes, sir. I'm afraid so." There was a hint of amusement in the butler's voice as he confirmed the hour. Bruce listened without looking as he turned away and began rousing Dick.

"…Already?" said the boy, his tone an echo of Bruce's.

"Yes, young sir," he verified a second time, outright laughter now bubbling just below the surface of his words at the identical reactions from his charges. "I've prepared a small repast," he told them both as he walked away, determined to spend a few well-earned minutes enjoying the sun on the front porch. "You'll find it on the table."

They opened their eyes at the same time, each searching the other out. "Hey," Dick said quietly, smiling blearily.

"Good nap?"

"Yeah…" He'd had no dreams, bad or otherwise. _That's practically a miracle,_ he thought to himself. _I don't think I've slept without having a nightmare in almost two months._ They hadn't all been bad enough to result in his drawing blood, but none of them were things he liked to revisit.

"How's your head?"

"It's okay. The aspirin's still working." He paused. "I don't want to move."

"I know," Bruce commiserated. "Me, either. But do you really want to lay around for the rest of the day?"

"No," he sighed before rolling into a seated position, his blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. "I need to find us a charter."

"Fish, fish, fish," the man teased, also sitting but shrugging his cover off.

"Tasty fish."

"It better be, as gung ho as you are about it."

"It will be, I guarantee it. They say it's even better if you've caught it yourself, just because you did all the work to get it."

"What do I get if your guarantee is wrong?"

"…I dunno. But it doesn't matter, because I'm not wrong." He stood, finally leaving his quilt behind. "I'm going to brush my teeth. I think something died in my mouth."

"That frappuccino, maybe."

"Ha, ha. No, my drink was fantastic, and you should have tried it."

"I don't like things suspended in my beverages."

"Those were the chocolate _chips_ in the _java_, Bruce. You know…the whole reason it's called what it's called?"

"Right. Cold coffee with chunks in it. That's what you drank."

"Oh, god," the teen moaned. "I can tell you slept well, you're being insufferable."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No." The last thing he wanted short of an Arkham breakout was for Bruce to prematurely end one of his rare playful moods. "Just give me a minute to get up to speed. You know my repartee's slow after a nap." Dragging his feet, he made his way to the bathroom and shut the door.

Bruce, in the meantime, forced himself to get up and fold their blankets, draping them back where he'd found them. Making his way over to the table, he found a plate of sandwiches and a sweating pitcher of iced tea. "Thank you, Alfred," he muttered when the first bite woke the lion in his stomach, displeased with the meager breakfast it had been offered earlier. Dick joined him several minutes later, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, and between the two of them they emptied both the plate and the pitcher. Finished, they made their way outside to find Alfred waiting in a sunny rocking chair, feet on the low porch railing.

"Ready, sirs?" he asked, standing.

"Let's go," Bruce said, starting down the stairs.

"Race you," Dick said before vaulting the banister and loping to the car, grinning as he turned to watch his guardian approach.

"Yes, I see you 'won,'" he gave in, making air quotes with his hands and rolling his eyes. "Congratulations."

"I think that means you owe me another frappuccino."

"I think that request means you're addicted to Starbucks."

"There are plenty of worse things out there to be addicted to."

"Get in the car, would you?" Bruce said, reaching out to ruffle his hair as he went by.

"Gah! That took me like ten minutes to do this morning!" he exclaimed, hands flying to his head and trying to fix the damage as he took his seat.

The billionaire just laughed, shaking his head. As soon as they began to move, Dick rolled the window down and let the breeze, a heady mixture of salt water and conifers, fill his nose. No one spoke, and as soon as they had successfully navigated the nasty dip at the beginning of the road and turned back onto the highway Bruce tuned the radio to a news station.

The teen let the drone of the announcers wash over him, breathing deeply as glimpses of water flashed between the trees. For a minute he felt as if he were sitting not in the backseat of a luxury sedan but rather on his mother's lap in the front seat of Pop Haly's ancient pickup truck, cruising along the Jersey shoreline on the way to the circus' next performance. Portions of their last two summers together had been spent that way, camping in big, open fields that looked out over the ocean and watching the toys of the rich and famous move back and forth across the panorama. The three Graysons had had a running joke that they could never buy a sailboat like the tall-masted beauties that floated by because if they did Dick would climb into the crow' nest and live there, requiring that all his meals be carried up to him. _And we'd eat nothing but fresh caught fish, and mom would lie on the deck in the sun all day while dad invented elaborate dives,_ he remembered the rest of the litany. _We'd do nothing useful with our lives, but love every minute of it, even the hurricanes, because we'd know that if we sank we'd at least go down together._

It hadn't worked out that way, though. He'd turned out to be a survivor of storms far more violent than the one that had taken his parents.

"Dick?" Bruce's voice spoke his name gently, seemingly reading his emotions.

"Yeah?" he answered, wiping away the single tear that had fallen before he turned to face him.

"…Never mind," the billionaire faltered, seeing the old, familiar pain in his son's eyes and knowing what he'd been daydreaming about. _I'll ask him about it later, when it's faded back some,_ he decided, all too aware of how difficult it could be to discuss a deeply felt memory right after letting yourself be carried into it.

"…Anything interesting on the news? I wasn't really listening," the teen asked. Sadness had flashed momentarily across Bruce's face when they'd looked at each other, and he didn't want it to stay. Dick had long ago made it a personal crusade to keep the man's head above the surface of depression, and after six years of practice it took a lot more than a recollection of his parents to render him unfit for that duty.

There _had_ been something, but Bruce was hesitant to bring it up. _I promised I'd tell him anything new I found out about Erwin,_ he reminded himself. _It's good news, really, so maybe it will help the nightmares. _"You didn't hear anything they said?" he double checked.

"Huh-uh."

"Well…Erwin was in court today."

"Oh?" He sounded mildly disinterested, but Bruce knew it was act, put on most likely for his benefit.

"It was a very fast trial. They found him guilty of everything."

"Everything? Really?"

"Yes. Everything. Fourteen counts of sexual assault of a minor and of kidnapping, thirteen counts of child trafficking, ten counts of second degree murder, and one count of conspiracy to kidnap and conspiracy to traffic. He'll be locked up until the day he dies. The judge apparently said that he wished the death penalty was legal in Gotham, because he would have had no qualms in sentencing him to it."

"Mm. Well, that's good. He's off the street." Turning pensive again, he examined his fingernails.

"Pezzoli goes in next week. The DA is expecting it to be just as quick in his case."

"Good," he repeated shortly. "At least we know _part_ of the legal system works. Sometimes." He looked up suddenly, catching something Bruce had said. "Wait. Did you say ten counts of murder?" he asked.

"Yes."

"So the one girl didn't make it."

He shook his head. "No. She didn't." Three of the children the former CPS agent had kidnapped and sold to Dominic Pezzoli's underground pedophilia dungeon had been found alive when the police raided Roxane's, the strip club that was a front for the business. The youngest of the three, who had been there the longest, had been in very bad shape, falling into a coma shortly after being rescued. "Her mother removed her from life support a few days ago after the doctors told her there was no hope of recovery."

"Oh." He went silent.

In the driver's seat, Alfred's hands were tight on the steering wheel. _He should have waited until we were home to tell him all of that,_ he fumed, fighting to keep his face passive. _Can't the child have one weekend without facing things that make most adults quail? Is that so much to ask?_ Instead of voicing those opinions as he directed the car down the main street of the town, he brought up dinner. "There's a summer market near the harbor every afternoon, I understand. We should be able to find everything there. Do you have a preference on the entrée, Master Dick?" Part of the butler hoped that he would be craving something Bruce hated, like squid or eel. The man's discomfort in eating such a meal would at least start to make up for the crime of mentioning Erwin unnecessarily.

"…I don't know," he considered, thinking. He knew that Alfred was trying to distract him from the information he'd just been given, and he appreciated it. He hated the Batman-level dark moods that thinking about Erwin had thrown him into on several occasions, and he'd felt another instance coming on upon hearing the news about the girl. Traipsing along at an open market with the task of finding their next meal seemed like one of the few ways he might be able to hold it at bay. "Anything sounds great. Maybe I can just pick something out as we walk."

"As you wish, Master Dick," the butler agreed, relieved that the teen seemed to be pushing back his anger.

Despite the fact that this particular town was somewhat off the main tourist track, the market was teeming with people, many of them obviously visitors. More than a few people caught themselves staring as they recognized Bruce Wayne strolling between the stands behind his butler and increasingly eager ward. He ignored them, concentrating instead on the fact that his son's humor had picked back up since they'd left the car. The boy flitted in and out of the groups thronging the counters, emerging each time to shrug or make a face, indicating that the fare hadn't been quite what he was looking for.

As they worked their way deeper into the lines of stalls, the crowds began to thin out. The people shopping in the back portion of the market looked like locals rather than tourists, lacking the fresh gift shop tees and loud city attitudes that characterized many of the out-of-towners. All three of them relaxed in this different atmosphere, and Dick and Alfred both started to look for real, sensing that the food they were seeing here might be less flashy but would likely taste better. Bruce, content now that he didn't have to worry about losing sight of his son in a throbbing mass of strangers every thirty seconds, hung back and just listened as the other two held a discussion over a display of rockfish.

"Gosh, these look way better than the ones they're selling up front," Dick commented.

"You've got a good eye for fresh fish, honey," the busty blonde working the counter complimented him.

"Thanks. What do you think, Alfred?"

"I agree, Master Dick." He leaned close and examined the staring eye of one specimen. "Were these caught this morning, madam?" he queried.

"Yesterday evening at the earliest," she crowed proudly. "You won't find a cloudy-eyed fish on my table. Up front, they'll sell you something that's been on ice three, four days. That's cause most people up there don't know what they're looking for. They figure, hey, we're on vacation, let's try something new, but they've never bought fish before. They don't know to check the gills, press on the meat, take a good sniff before they buy it. It's all still edible, of course, but it's not _fresh_. Back here is where we locals get our dailies. Here, look at this," she rattled on, pulling open the long cut where the fish had been gutted and pressing her finger against the meat. The indentation she left when she pulled away filled back in immediately, regaining the same color as the flesh around it. "That's what you want, right there."

"…Is that what you'd like tonight?" the butler asked his charge.

"Hmm…" Dick considered. The fish looked really great, and he knew Alfred would make a masterpiece out of it, but it felt like there was something else that he was craving. Suddenly, it hit him. _And Bruce can even stand to eat it,_ he thought happily. _Meals are less fun when you can tell he's struggling to choke down the food._ "I think what I really want is lobster," he confessed, giving the fishmonger an apologetic look. "Not that this wouldn't be amazing, but…"

"You want lobster? I'll tell you where to get your lobster. You go down to the end of this aisle, turn right, and the third stall on your left will sell you the best bugs you'll ever have. Tell Gina that Margie sent you, she'll take care of you."

"Thanks!" the teen beamed. "Sorry for taking up so much of your time."

"Don't worry about it, doll. I tell you what, you stop by and see me on Sunday – that's the next day my husband's going out - and I'll get you all set up with some fish then. Give you time to whet your appetite for it," she winked.

Thanking her again, they took their leave, following her directions and turning the corner. Seeing the stand that the blonde – _Margie_, Dick remembered, stashing the information away for later – had told them about, he felt his feet slow. "Wow," he whispered as his eyes fell on the aproned girl who seemed to be running things. _She's beautiful,_ he gasped mentally.

"…Master Dick?" Alfred turned back with a questioning expression, noticing that the boy had fallen behind him.

"Huh? Oh! Sorry. I was, uh, thinking about something." Trying to keep from blushing, he caught up, not seeing the informative look that Bruce sent over his head to let the butler know what the object of his attention had been. They stopped several paces to the side as the girl finished with another customer, Dick having to turn away in order to focus anywhere other than on her shining reddish hair and laughing green eyes.

"Oh, my," Alfred said with false dismay. "I meant to stop and get some of those lovely tomatoes that were for sale just down from the fishmonger's. Do you mind choosing the lobsters while I go back, Master Dick? It's only that I'm afraid they'll run out. She was getting low as it was."

"I, uh…sure," he went along with a sick little grimace. _What?! No, don't leave now, Alfred,_ he wanted to beg. _I don't know what to say to her._ It wasn't that he didn't have experience charming women, it was just that other than in school the only females he spent much time around were Bruce's age or older. The most he felt for any of them was a vague puppy-crush. There were several nice girls amongst his classmates, but none of them were in this one's league. _I'm totally going to screw this up. Well, at least Bruce will still be around…to make fun of me later,_ he realized sourly. _Crap._

"I'll come with you, Alfred," the billionaire volunteered, barely disguising his grin at this turn of events. He wasn't thrilled at the idea of the boy wandering around a strange town full of unknown people without him, but he couldn't bring himself to stifle the flame of interest he'd all but heard explode into being when Dick had laid eyes on the girl. "Here, this should be more than enough for the lobster," he said as he handed him a wad of bills. "And, you know…whatever else you need."

"Bruce, c'mon," he pleaded as he took the money and shoved it in his pocket without so much as glancing at it.

"Relax, chum," he offered a little quiet advice. He could tell just looking at him that he was uncharacteristically nervous, and that told him just how taken with her he was. "She's pretty, and she's looking right at you. Rather intently, by the way." The teen gulped audibly. "You'll be fine. Try not to be more than an hour though, okay? We'll probably be at that little café down the street from the car." Seeing that his pep talk had only made things worse, he sighed. "Dick," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "What would Robin do?"

"He's not exactly known for his romantic conquests, Bruce," was hissed back.

"Well, I guess you'd better get to work on that then, huh?" He winked, started to leave, then paused. "Don't actually tell her anything," he clarified unnecessarily.

"No shit, Sherlock." He almost smacked his hand across his own mouth as those words came out. _What the hell is wrong with me? _

The man chose to give him an encouraging smile rather than a lecture on language. "Pick good ones," he said at a volume that he knew the girl could hear. "And don't be all day, Alfred needs time to cook them." With that, he and the butler walked away, seemingly unconcerned by the fact that they'd left Dick struggling to control his heart rate as he realized how stupid it would look if he ran after them.

_What would Robin do? How much more useless of a piece of advice could you have given me, Bruce? Robin kicks people in the face, he doesn't kiss their hands!_ His mind skipped as he slowly turned and walked towards the cooler-laden stand. _…Should I kiss her hand? No, that's creepy. We're in a market, not at a ball. Jesus, dude, get a grip on yourself! Just…just buy the lobster. That's all you have to do. _Reaching the counter, he looked up and met her eyes as she said hello.

_Just…just buy some lobster. Yeah. Lobster._ His returned greeting sounded shaky to his ears, and he wanted to kick himself. _Lobster. Just need some lobster for dinner. Oh, no, now she's smiling at me, don't do that…lobster. Lobster?_

_ I'm in trouble._


	5. Chapter 5

"Are…are you Gina?" he managed.

"Yeah," she said, a blush spreading under the spray of faint freckles on her cheeks. "How did you know?"

"Ah…Margie sent me. Us, I mean. You know…" he gestured vaguely towards where Bruce and Alfred had been standing a minute before.

"Oh! Are you looking for lobster?" she asked, suddenly seeming more confident. _Gosh, he's cute when he's shy,_ she couldn't stop herself from thinking. _No! He's a tourist, he'll be gone in a couple days. You'll probably see him for five minutes, and then never again. Don't be stupid._ Lobster, though – she could handle lobster. It was in her blood, after all. "We've got the best bugs in town. Along the whole coast, dad says."

"…Why do you call them that?" he asked, his natural curiosity conquering a little of his bashfulness.

"Bugs? Oh, it's just a slang term. You know, local color." She giggled timorously.

He gave a little laugh along with her. _She's smart. She's pretty __and__ she's smart. Oh, god, why me? _"That makes sense. They do kind of look like insects, with the antennae and all. The, uh…segmented bodies," he trailed off, embarrassed. _Yeah, that's it, genius. Go into biology mode. I'm sure she thinks talking about crustacean anatomy is really hot._ "So…yeah. Bugs."

They stared at each other silently for several long seconds. "So…" she ventured, "how many do you need?"

"Huh?"

"How many lobsters did you want to get? I've got plenty here. Dad just caught them this morning, so they're really fresh."

"Oh! Lobster. Right." _You know, the thing you came here for,_ he snarked mentally. "Ah…well, there are three of us, and lobster is one of the few kinds of seafood Bruce will actually eat, so…I guess two apiece? Six?"

"Do you have a large pot?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"…What?"

"They're kind of big, the lobsters, at least they are if you want six of them at a time. Here, I'll show you." She reached into a cooler and pulled out a bluish-gray thing longer than her forearm, holding it up for him to see. "See?"

"…Maybe Alfred can cook them a couple at a time," he puzzled. "He'll figure it out." The creature in her hand shifted, and his eyes widened. "Is that still alive?"

"Of course. That way you get them as fresh as possible. Here, want to hold him?" Before he knew what was happening, she shoved it at him. Their hands brushed as he took it, and the lobster nearly hit the ground.

It was hard to concentrate on holding the oddly shaped creature when she was looking at him with that funny little smile on her lips. "So…yeah. This guy's pretty cool," he commented, turning the lobster around to look at it from different angles. "Is it hard to get the rubber bands on the claws? I've always wondered how people do that without getting pinched."

"It's not hard, once you've got some practice," she shrugged. "I've been helping my dad with them for as long as I can remember, so I'm pretty good at it by now. He has his own boat, and goes out most mornings when he doesn't have a charter." She was babbling, and she knew it, but it was impossible to stop. For all that he would be gone in a couple of days at most – he _had_ to be a tourist, she knew all of the local kids and none of them would wear slacks during the summer, let alone to the market – she felt drawn to him, an inexplicable connection that she'd never experienced before. She wondered how old he was; he looked about her age, but you couldn't tell with some people.

Her last word caught his interest, reminding him of his other task in town today. "Charters? Your dad runs fishing charters, too?" _Maybe she goes along on them. I'd probably fall off the boat if she got too close to me, but at least if I drowned I'd die happy._

"Sure. Tuna, bass, sharks, you name it."

"_Sharks?_" He hadn't even thought about the possibility of fishing for sharks. "I didn't know you could do that on a charter."

"Yup. Makos, Threshers, Porbeagles, Blues…" _Boooooring, Gina, he doesn't want a marine biology lesson, _she chastised herself. "…Have you ever eaten shark?"

"Yeah, a couple times. It's really good. Wow…I'd really like to catch a shark. That would be so cool. Have you ever?"

She nodded. "Mm-hm. I caught my first one when I was six. It was just a little four-footer, though. Nothing like the ones dad brings in sometimes. One of his charters almost set a record last year."

"Could we…I mean, do you think he'd be available to do a charter tomorrow?"

"I dunno," she wrinkled her nose. "We could go ask. He's down at the boat right now." Taking the lobster back from him – he was so excited about the idea of catching a shark with this girl at his side that he'd forgotten the wet animal in his hands – she placed it in a cooler and set a sign on the counter. "Okay," she said, patting her apron pocket to make sure she had the day's cash intake. "Let's go."

They chatted brightly as they left the market behind and approached the small boat harbor. Each found the other easy to be around, and wondered what they'd been so high strung about a short while earlier. Gulls screamed nearby, fighting over the fish offal that washed into the water from the public fish cleaning stations. Dick stopped to watch them, intrigued by the cacophony and the smooth control they evinced in flight. "How do they not run into each other?" he wondered out loud.

"I know, it's crazy." She shook her head and leaned against the railing beside him. "They get so fat off of all the guts that I don't know how they can even fly at all."

Dick laughed at that. "Sounds like the pigeons at home. I think these guys are noisier, though."

"…So you _are_ from the city."

"Yeah. Gotham. Why?"

"No reason. Just curious." They stood there for some time, chuckling at the antics of the seabirds and shuffling closer together until their elbows almost touched. Finally Gina straightened, her eyes focusing further down the sidewalk. "Oh, here he comes. He must be done changing the oil. Dad!" she called out, waving an arm energetically to catch his attention.

Dick turned to see a man maybe a decade older than Bruce approaching them. His weather beaten but cleanly shorn face hone with a broad, affectionate smile as he drew up to Gina. "Hello, my Mazu," he greeted, swinging her up and around into a tight hug. "Out of lobsters already?"

"No, not yet. It's been slow today. I brought someone who's interested in chartering the boat, though." She indicated Dick, who had hung back slightly during the familial greetings. "This is my father, Bryant Graves. Dad, this is…" her expression turned mortified. "I'm so sorry, I totally didn't ask your name, did I?"

"That's okay," he smiled, stepping forward and offering the fisherman his hand. Oddly, he didn't feel uncertain around this fellow in the least, despite the fact that he was the father of a Siren. _Maybe it's because this is a business transaction,_ he posited. _Then again, so was the lobster. _"I'm Dick Grayson. Nice to meet you."

The man shook firmly, a look of mild surprise on his face. "Well, Mazu, you're not fooling around today, are you? Brought in a big name client. Unless I'm mistaken about who you are? Bruce Wayne's boy?"

"Uh…no, sir. You're correct." He reddened; the types and number of people he ran into who already knew who he was because of his connection to Bruce was occasionally off-putting. "Is that a problem?" he inquired cautiously. It was for some people, he knew; the billionaire was a controversial figure in many circles, and while he had a good understanding of how the citizenry of Gotham felt about his guardian, there was no predicting which way the wind blew out here. The fact that Gina was staring at him in open shock wasn't helping anything.

"Nope," Bryant grinned broadly. "I've got a strict rule against animal rights activists on my boat, but rich men? They're always welcome. So, when did you want to go out?"

"Well, Mr. Graves, sir, I was hoping we could go tomorrow."

"…You've got to quit with that 'sir' thing," he said kindly. "I know you're just being polite, but really, it's just Bryant. My own father wasn't even Mr. Graves, and I don't think any of us have ever been sirs, or wanted to be, for that matter. So, tomorrow?" he transitioned smoothly. "We can do tomorrow. You want a full day out? What are you looking to catch?"

"Gina mentioned sharks. I thought that would be fun."

"Oh, it's fun alright. My girl here loves to shark fish, don't you, Mazu?" he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Not all parents are open to letting their children tackle that kind of a predator, though," he added delicately, not blind to the fact that the boy couldn't be much older than his daughter.

_Oh, you have no idea the kind of predators he lets me chase,_ Dick thought. "I don't think it will be a problem," he shrugged. "So long as he's there with me, he generally lets me try new things. And he already knows we're going fishing."

"So we'll start with some tuna, maybe," the boat captain suggested, rubbing his chin. "Warm him up to the idea a bit before we chum the water and start reeling in the toothier species."

Dick smiled. He liked these two; they seemed open, more or less unburdened by the petty concerns of the world, and legitimately in love with the way they made their living. They reminded him of people he'd known in the circus, he realized with a slight pang. "That sounds great, Mr. – Bryant," he corrected himself.

"So how many people are you bringing?"

"There's just three of us. Can you guarantee that there won't be anyone else on the charter? Bruce was really adamant about that. He's got a thing about strangers."

"Well, I've got room for six people to fish at once. If someone else wants to fish, I'd hate to turn them down and lose the income."

"…What if we bought out the other spots? Would that work for you?"

"Less work for more money? If you ever hear me say no to that proposition, check my head for bumps," he joked. "Full day mixed shark and tuna with a boat buy-out will run you about $4500."

"Sounds good," he agreed, hoping that Bruce wouldn't balk at the price. For all that the man was numbered among the richest in the country, he could be stingy when he felt like it. That went double for things he didn't really want to do. "Do we settle up at the end tomorrow, or do you want a deposit?"

"You can give my girl here something to hold the reservation. She'll take care of it. I have to run, though, before the harbormaster takes off for the day. See you at home, Mazu. Dick," he offered his calloused hand for another brief shake. "Five a.m. sharp. Gina'll show you where to go." And with that, he left.

"…So, do you want to see the boat?" She stood with her arms crossed, regarding him from the corner of her eye.

"Yeah," he grinned at her. "Lead the way." Following her down the ramp to the docks, he tried to keep up the previous pace of their conversation. "So…your nickname. Mazu?"

"Mm-hm?"

"It's good. I mean, a Chinese goddess known for protecting sailors…it makes sense that he would call you that. I like it."

She stopped. "How did you know that? Most of the people who grew up here don't even understand why he calls me that."

"Bruce makes me learn all sorts of weird stuff. He says you never know when you'll need seemingly esoteric knowledge." It was only partially a lie; the words had actually passed from Batman to Robin, but she didn't need to know that. "Plus, I like mythology. There are some crazy stories out there, you know?"

"…Yeah." She didn't say anything until she halted in front of an older but well-cared for craft. "This is it," she told him. "38 feet long. Slip A42. This is where you need to come in the morning. We provide all the bait and tackle, but you'll have to bring your own food and drinks."

"Couer de Lise," he read the calligraphed name on the stern. "Pretty name."

"Thanks," she replied, a little roughly. "Any questions? You know how to get here tomorrow? You can't be late, dad hates it when people are late."

"No, I think I've got it down," he answered, confused. _Why is she being so distant all of a sudden? We were having fun until she heard my name…Oh._ His shoulders fell. _Rich kid syndrome_. It wasn't the first time he'd run into someone who was perfectly nice until they found out he was attached to Bruce, but he'd never before found himself regretting the connection. "Gina," he tried. _I can explain._

"We should go back and get your lobsters," she cut him off, looking away. "Weren't you supposed to hurry?"

"I – okay. Sure." He followed her back up and out of the marina, making little mental notes along the way to ensure that he could find his way again tomorrow. _Wow, that went one-eighty with no warning,_ he bemoaned, watching her hair shift in the breeze as he walked behind her. _One minute I can practically feel her heat, and the next she's stone._ _God, girls are weird._

Back at the stall, she quickly loaded a foam box with a half dozen lobsters and slid it across the counter to him. "Thirty five dollars, please," she said distantly.

"Hey, listen," he tried again, determined not to give up. _This is a misunderstanding. She can't be like the others who have acted this way, she's got to let me explain that I'm not __really__ some spoiled trust fund kid like she thinks…_

Her eyes narrowed, glaring at him, and he saw that they were brimming with unshed tears. "…Gina?" he asked, more befuddled than ever.

"Thirty five dollars, please," she repeated, whispering now. Her mouth had drawn itself into a tight line, and he knew that whatever had made her upset with him wasn't going to be solvable until she calmed down. Feeling his previously good mood plummet, he pulled out the roll of cash Bruce had handed him. He tried to hide the fact that it was still substantial even after he peeled several bills from it, but he got the feeling that she knew what he was doing, and why.

"Here," he passed her a small stack of currency. "Is five hundred down on the charter enough?"

"That's fine," she grimaced, shoving it into her apron. "Hold on," she stopped him as he walked away. "I owe you five dollars. You gave me forty instead of thirty five."

"Keep it," he said, turning back to her with a sad smile. "For telling me about the lobsters, and showing me the harbor. I…I had fun. Thanks."

"Me, too," she murmured when he was out of earshot. _I just wish you hadn't turned out to be one of __them__._


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: I know some of you are getting really anxious for a little action, and I promise, it's coming! A lot of what takes place in the preceding chapters and the couple more that are left before the fighting begins will be important once things heat up, so stick with me! And, as always, thanks for reading. :)**

"Uh-oh," Bruce muttered, spying Dick making his way towards where he and Alfred were seated outside of a busy little café.

"Trouble, sir?" the butler, whose back was turned to his approaching charge, looked up from his tea to ask.

"Maybe, although I'm not sure why it took him an hour to strike out."

"Oh, dear." He clammed up as the teen approached and set his load down in the shade under the table.

"I found us a charter," he said vaguely as he occupied the last chair. "We have to be at the boat at 5 a.m."

"…You're kidding, right?" Bruce spluttered unthinkingly. "You realize that means we have to leave where we're staying at 4:30? Which means getting up no later than 3:30 if we want to eat."

He slumped miserably, Bruce's reaction piling on top of his already dismal spirits, and began tracing the designs in the tablecloth with one finger. "…We don't have to do it," he said finally. "I only gave her a five hundred dollar deposit. If I go right now I might even be able to get that back." He stood up again. "That's probably best in any case."

The billionaire's hand flashed out and grabbed his wrist. "Dick, sit down and tell us what happened," he requested gently. It was patently obvious that there had been an issue with the redhead, but he had a sense that there was something more than that at play as well, and he was determined to find out what it was. _He looks so distraught. What did that girl say to him?_

"Bruce, just-"

"Sit. Down," he repeated quietly. There was no anger in his voice, but his tone left no room for argument, either. Once the boy had reclaimed his seat with a put-upon sigh, he released his arm. "Tell us what happened."

"I don't want to talk about it. Especially not here," he said pointedly, drawing attention to the fact that they were sitting amongst other patrons in plain view of one of the town's main thoroughfares.

"…Okay," he conceded. "We'll talk about it later, then. But," he added, "I want you to know that I didn't say what I said about the time to make you feel like I don't want to go."

"It's okay if you don't want to, we really don't have to. It's not a big deal," he shrugged.

"Yes, it is. You've been talking about doing this for two months. No matter how much you insist that it doesn't matter, I know better. We're going." He paused. "What are we fishing for, anyway?"

"Tuna. And…sharks." _What's the point in hiding it? He'll just be more pissed off if he doesn't find out until we're out there. Maybe if I tell him now he'll get angry enough to make me cancel it and save me the embarrassment of spending all day tomorrow with the guy whose daughter just gave me a wicked cold shoulder._

"Shark fishing?" _Always have to go for the most vicious thing you can find to fight, don't you?_ he sighed to himself. _I know where you learned it from, too. So much for my setting a good example._ "Has the charter captain done it before?"

"Yeah. Gina…" his voice caught on her name, forcing him to clear his throat. "Gina said one of his customers last year almost set a record with one they caught. It's still probably pretty dangerous, though."

"The aspect of danger is part of what makes it so fun, Master Dick," Alfred contributed.

"You say that like you've done it before," Bruce said suspiciously.

The butler just gave him a small smile. "I would remind you, sir, that I too was young and slightly crazy once upon a time. I think shark fishing will suit you both very well."

_Well, so much for getting it cancelled. _"You're coming with, right, Alfred?" Dick asked. "I bought out the whole boat, so it'll just be the three of us fishing."

"I'm not opposed to dropping a line for tuna, but I believe I'll be quite content to be a bystander while you and Master Wayne hunt your sharks. I would prefer to keep my hands unoccupied in the event of an emergency."

"…It's not _that_ dangerous, is it?" the billionaire queried, beginning to look a bit concerned.

"I've never attempted to catch a shark in the North Atlantic, sir, so I can't speak for the species native to these waters. It seems to be a popular pastime here, so I suspect it's relatively safe."

"…Okay. How much is it going to be, Dick?"

"Forty-five hundred." He waited for another outburst like the one that had occurred when Bruce heard how early they were going to have to get up, but it never came.

"That sounds reasonable," he heard instead.

"…Really?"

"I don't think it'll break the bank," Bruce joked, making his words as light as he could. He didn't know what had occurred between his son and the lobster girl, but keeping him talking about other things seemed to be helping. "Besides, like I said, this is your reward for doing well in school this year. I probably would have gotten you anything you asked for."

"Oh, sure, you tell me that _now_." The corners of his lips twitched upwards just slightly.

"Ah, too late to change your mind." He paused. "They do those frappuccino things you like here. Do you want one to go? We should probably get those lobsters back to the house."

He thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, okay. That sounds good."

The ride back was quiet. Trying to keep the teen from slipping back into the utterly unhappy mood he'd been in when he returned from the market, both Bruce and Alfred pointed out landmarks along the way. Dick did his best to respond adequately, but without the distraction of active conversation he couldn't get Gina out of his head. _I hope I get a chance to explain this all to you,_ he thought, staring out the window as his arm trailed along the lid of the lobster box on the seat beside him. _I'm not like the other well-off kids you probably meet in the summers. I'm…I'm like you._

A hand touched his searchingly, and he turned to find Bruce watching him again. "Did you say something?" he asked, still stuck on the girl.

"…Are you okay?" the man queried frankly. There was no pity in his gaze, although Dick was sure he had a good idea of what had occurred, and he was immensely grateful for the absence of that particular emotion.

He gave a half-shrug. "I'll be fine. It's just…girls are really weird, Bruce."

"Tell me about it," he replied, half commiserating and half inquiring.

He sighed and dropped his head back against the seat. The pain over his temple was starting to come back, and he wondered if it was reasserting itself because the aspirin had worn off or because thinking about Gina was so tasking. "She's amazing," he whispered. "She's smart, she's funny, and she's beautiful. We were having a good time, until…" he trailed off, closing his eyes. "Until she found out who I was. As soon as your name came up, she got really distant. She looked like she was about to cry by the time I finally left her alone."

"…I'm sorry, Dick," Bruce apologized. "I'm sure that didn't feel very good."

"Nope. Not in the least. But it isn't your fault." He glanced away as he said the last, a part of him still carrying a seed of resentment about the fact that his guardian's reputation had seemingly ruined his chances with the first girl he'd really been interested in.

"It is, a little," the man countered. "I don't know why she feels as she does, but if I were a different person she might not have been so unhappy to learn who you were associated with."

"Bruce…" he shook his head. "If you were a different person, she might not hate me, but I wouldn't have the experience that allows me to appreciate her enough to really want her to like me."

_I thought you were fourteen, not thirty four, _he marveled. "That's a very mature attitude to have about it," he managed to say.

"…Thanks. It doesn't make it hurt any less, though."

"I know," he said, giving his fingers a swift squeeze before withdrawing. "What do you want to do when we get back?"

"…You said earlier that you wanted to walk down to the beach. We could do that."

"Mm, we could. Or we could wait until after dinner and go watch the sun set."

"I like that idea better." He considered for a minute. "I kind of feel like climbing some of those huge trees."

_Good, _he applauded mentally. _You've worked strong emotions out through physical activity as long as I've known you. Climbing will make you feel a lot better. _"Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you know me too well. You want to climb them with me? There's no one around there to see us."

"…Will you be horribly disappointed if instead I do some paperwork on the back porch and just watch to make sure you don't fall and crack your skull open?" he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper in the hopes that Alfred wouldn't overhear.

"No, that's about what I figured you'd say. You took two days off from the office, so of _course_ you brought paperwork with you." He smiled to show that it really didn't bother him to cavort in the treetops alone. "If you hadn't, I'd have thought you were sick."

The billionaire's eye narrowed in mock cautiousness. "I think it's _you_ who knows _me _too well," he intoned. "I'll have to do something about that."

The teen laughed a little, and turned back to the window with a small smile on his face. Gina might never come around to liking him again, but at least he had Bruce and Alfred to make it all seem slightly less awful.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: I'm a sucker for days that start with 'T,' and since two-fer Tuesday didn't happen this week I thought we'd do two-fer Thursday. It's not as fun to say, but hopefully it's as fun to read.**

"Hey," a voice caught Dick's attention as he sat pensively on a limb some thirty feet in the air. Looking down, he found Bruce balanced a distance below him, holding on tightly as he craned his neck to peer through the foliage.

"Hey," he called back. "What's up?"

"Did you still want to walk down to the beach? If we go soon we'll have a little time to explore before it gets dark."

"…Okay. I'll be there in a second," he agreed. He'd clambered up and down the monstrous deciduous trees that ringed the cottage until dinner was ready, only coming back to the ground to crack open and devour the succulent crustaceans that Alfred had seasoned to perfection. Afterwards, he had returned to the edge of the forest and regained his seat two-thirds of the way to the top of a particularly large tree. The only thing that prevented him from going higher was the sea breeze that rocked the branches above his head, increasing the risk that they would break under him or that he would slip. He knew full well that if hitting the ground from this height didn't kill him Bruce would, so he'd settled on the sturdiest limb he could find and watched the clouds scuttle by overhead.

Bruce had watched closely as he plowed through his paperwork, wanting to make sure the boy didn't attempt to climb so high that the branches couldn't support his weight. His natural adventurousness, paired with the quiet angst he'd been emitting since they'd left town, seemed likely to entice him to push past the limits of safety. He'd been pleased to see that instead of putting himself at risk Dick had taken his time, really seeming to read each tree and stopping his ascents before they became dangerous. Now, as the teen jumped the last ten feet, rolled, and popped up in front of him, brushing grass from his sleeves unconcernedly, he couldn't help but smile. "Ready?"

"Yup." Sitting in his perch, he'd realized that if Gina wasn't interested even after he explained things to her – assuming, of course, that he got such an opportunity – there wasn't anything he could do about it. It wasn't worth spending their entire vacation in a funk; not when time with Bruce, especially out of costume, was so rare. With that in mind, he set off alongside his guardian towards the beach, determined to be happy despite his still-present longing for the girl. "Whoa," he said, coming to a stop as they reached the edge of the sand a few minutes later. "I forgot how cool the sand here looks."

The billionaire was equally impressed as he drew up beside him. "I wonder what the composition is," he mused. "I've never seen sand this…purple."

"I think it's only like this when the sun's at a certain angle," Dick pitched in as they started to walk along the edge where the sand turned to soil. "I've played around with the sample I have at home – you know, the one we got the other time we were here – and it only looks purplish when the light hits it just right."

"We should test it when we get home," Bruce suggested. "Just to see."

"Can we use the electron microscope?" he asked, excitement evident in his voice. Their latest toy had been in the cave for almost six months, but they hadn't had a good reason to use it yet. "It's a total waste if we don't use it for _something. _I mean, you paid over a hundred thousand dollars for it, and it's just collecting dust."

"Don't let Alfred hear you say that." He stared out at the water, caution flickering across his face for the barest instant as he observed the swells. "Sure. Like you said, we might as well use it for something."

"Sweet!" he grinned. "I'll bet we find amethyst in it," he said, turning to walk backwards.

"Mm. Maybe." His gaze kept darting to where slow waves rolled onto the land. He had planned the trip knowing that this beach was the setting of the awful dream that ended with a vision of his son's twitching, dismembered fingers, but he hadn't expected to be so nervous upon actually being here. His feet moved easily over the sand, Dick no longer suffered from the feverish delusion that he was a coward, and nothing bubbled ominously just offshore, but he was still on high alert. _It was just a dream,_ he tried to calm himself. _You __know__ it wasn't real. Even if Erwin wasn't locked up, he could never hurt him like he wanted to, not after what you did to him. He's safe. He's fine. There's no danger. Relax, before you waste even more time that you could be spending enjoying his company. _He shook himself, opened his mouth to speak, and then narrowed his eyes, staring down the length of the strand. "Someone's coming."

Dick spun back around, frowning slightly. "…Maybe someone from the public use road? That's pretty far down there, though."

"Well, we walked most of the distance last time we were here. Maybe they did the same. Or there could be other houses set back in the woods."

"That's true." Now he, too, was peering at the figure, trying to make out the person's details. "Oh," he breathed suddenly, halting dead in his tracks and nearly making Bruce run into him. "…It's Gina."

"…Really?" he queried, uncertain of how the teen could tell from this distance.

"Yeah. That's her," he said flatly. "Crap."

"We can turn around, if you want. There's still plenty of beach down the other way."

"…No," he refused slowly. "I…I need to talk to her."

"Dick, are you sure?" Seeing a tiny shiver go through the boy, he drew up close and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to. I won't think any less of you."

"I know. It's not that. I want a chance to explain things to her, that's all." Another shudder.

"You're shaking. You should have brought a jacket."

"It's her, not the weather. I just…she kind of freaks me out," he admitted.

"Why?"

"…Because I like her way too much for someone I'll probably never see again after this weekend," he whispered in reply. "That's why I need to talk to her. I can't leave it like it is." He tore his stare away from the steadily approaching silhouette and looked over his shoulder at Bruce. "You don't mind, do you? I'll try to make it quick."

"Take your time. I'll wait down by those rocks," he said, gesturing towards a pile of boulders that stood out halfway between them and the waterline. "Whatever she says," he added as they made to part ways, "try not to take it personal, okay?" _You're an amazing kid, Dick,_ he bit back. _She's the one missing out if whatever you need to say isn't good enough for her._

"I'll try," he nodded, giving him a tiny, brave smile before continuing to venture towards the girl. He could feel the man's eyes linger on him for several seconds before they turned away, and he was grateful that Bruce wouldn't be too far off if his attempt went poorly. _I wonder if he's ever been in this same predicament? Just because I've never seen him with someone he was actually interested in doesn't mean it's never happened. It seems like he kind of understands what I'm feeling._

A hundred yards away from her, he noticed that her eyes were fixed on the sand, and suddenly wondered if she even knew there was anyone on the beach with her. _I'm going to look like a total stalker if she thought she was alone this whole time,_ he panicked, but he kept going. There was nothing else for him to do; he _had_ to talk to her. Even if he had been able to get over that need, it would have been stranger for her to glance up and see him running away than for him to just man up and announce himself. "Hey, Gina," he called out as normally as he could, hoping that giving some warning of his presence would lessen the creepy factor if she had not, in fact, been aware that he was there.

She glanced up at him, a guilty look on her features, and for a second he thought that _she _was going to flee. While her feet did miss a step, she kept on towards him, only stopping when they stood a mere few feet apart. "Hi," she replied, still not raising her head. "I need to talk to you."

"I want to talk to you, too," he revealed. "I – do you mind if I go first? I've just been thinking about what to say all afternoon, that's all."

"Go ahead," she offered, burying her hands in the pocket of her sweatshirt.

"Okay," he started shakily. "Look, I know people say a lot of…not so nice things, about Bruce. And I know that those things don't reflect well on me, either. And I totally get why you would think I'm just a spoiled rich kid, especially when you see me pull out a wad of cash and start handing it out like it's candy." He paused. "But I'm not like that. I mean, yeah, Bruce has a lot of money, and sure he spends a lot of it on me-" _More than he should,_ he reflected, thinking about how much he'd been told his schooling cost "-but we're not stuck up about it. The way he acts for the papers, and for the society people…that's not really him. That's not him at all. And that's not me, either." He broke off, a little out of breath from the rush of words he'd just machine-gunned at the girl in front of him. "…So. Yeah. I just…wanted you to know that. I understand if you still don't want to hang out or whatever while I'm here, but…I dunno, I guess I'm hoping maybe you'll change your mind."

She stopped studying his shoelaces and met his eyes. "I'm sorry," she said simply, her lower lip trembling. "I…I was really mean to you earlier. You didn't deserve that, you were nothing but nice to me, even after I started being a…a bitch." She spat the word, clearly not comfortable using it but feeling that it applied better than any other in this situation. "I have this problem with people who are rich, and it's totally not your fault, but…I took it out on you anyway. I'm sorry."

"You…have a problem with rich people? Why?"

She took a deep breath. "It's…complicated."

"That's okay. My life isn't exactly simple, either."

"Well…it's just me and dad, see?"

_Oh._ "Is your mom...gone?"

"Yeah, but not in the way I think you're thinking. She's not dead or anything. She…It's kind of a long story."

"I don't mind."

"…Okay. Well, she…she and dad met in college. Dad's pretty smart, he got a scholarship that let him go to school even though his father was a fisherman and couldn't afford to send him. Once he was there, he realized that he missed the ocean, but he didn't want to let his opportunity to learn go to waste. He finished his degree, and _then_ came home to take over the boat. He brought his new wife with him.

"Grandpa predicted that it wouldn't last from day one. She was from a well-off family in New York, and no one on her side was happy she'd run off with some stinky scholarship boy from God-only-knew-where. Dad always says that she changed once they'd been here a while and she realized that there wasn't a social scene, that she wouldn't be going on ski trips and winging off to Paris for New Years, and that she'd never have the fancy house and live-in maid she'd been expecting since the day she was born. Their late night talks about philosophy and literature weren't enough for her any more, the way they had seemed to be in school. Dad loved her, though, so he started running people out on charters, figuring if he made a little extra money doing that he might be able to buy her what she needed to be happy with him. One of his first clients was a guy name Jack Dunaway. The morning he took Dunaway out fishing, he forgot something at the house, and she brought it to the slip for him. Dad's always told me he figured that was where it all started.

"Dunaway was rich the way her family had been. He was single, too, and he liked her a lot. So much, in fact, that when she turned up pregnant after a few months of sleeping with both him _and _dad, he offered to pay for her abortion if she would get a divorce and marry him instead. She agreed, and vanished from town one morning right after Dad pulled out of the harbor. But she didn't get the abortion. Instead, she had me. But I wasn't Dunaway's child, and that was what she really wanted. So she sent me off with her lawyer and a bundle of paperwork that would leave her completely free to be with the rich son of a bitch who stole her from dad.

"She knew him. She knew him _so_ well. He could never have turned me away, not even as a few days old baby squalling its head off. She sent a message with her lawyer, saying that she would release any and all parental rights and claims to me so long as he granted her the divorce she wanted. All he had to do was sign the documents her attorney had. And he did. He let her go off with Dunaway, and he kept me instead." She shook her head angrily. "Like I said, it's not as if any of it is your fault. But I see one of them in every woman who carries a designer handbag onto the sand and every man who whips out a roll of hundreds or a platinum credit card, and it makes me so mad, Dick. It makes me so mad, but I still have to smile and say thank you as I take those people's money, because it's my _place_, and because without them coming back summer after summer to catch their trophy sharks to mount on their den walls we would be on assistance. I hate them for what they did to my dad. She broke his heart, you know? And he just…he just _forgave _her. He let her go and doesn't hold it against her in the least. But I can't do that. I can't forgive her." She wound down, shock mounting in her expression as she realized what she had just spilled everything to him. "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. That…I didn't mean…you're just so easy to talk to…" Her hands rose to cover her mouth.

"It's okay, Gina. Really, it is. I don't mind." He smiled reassuringly and was gratified when she relaxed a little. So many times during her story he had wanted to close the gap between them and give her a hug, but he'd held off, knowing from experience that sometimes when you were reliving a wrong done to you the last thing you wanted was to be touched. "I understand why you feel that way. I mean, _I'm_ outraged, and it had nothing to do with me. I do have to ask, though – how come you didn't realize we have money when you saw Alfred following us around? I mean, he was wearing a butler's uniform in an open air market."

"It _was_ really odd," she laughed. "But…I guess I didn't want to believe that you were the same as all the other people who come into the market with staff trailing them."

"I'm _not_ the same as them."

"…I know. I just freaked out when dad said you were Bruce Wayne's kid…"

"I'm not," he said quickly. "Well, not technically. He tried to adopt me once, but the courts…well, the Gotham courts suck, let's just leave it at that."

"Dad said your parents were killed," she said softly.

"…Yeah. They were." He didn't feel it was necessary to inform her that he'd watched it happen.

"I'm sorry. I can't imagine what I would do if that happened to me."

"You just…go on," he shrugged. "I got lucky. I got Bruce."

"Well," she said lamely. "That's good, at least."

"Yeah. It is. I don't know what I'd be without him." They stood through an awkward pause. "Listen, Gina, I…" The butterflies were back in his stomach suddenly.

"…Do you think you can get over my being attached to a ridiculously wealthy person so we can hang out while I'm here?"

"You still want to? Even after everything I said?"

"I really like you," he blurted out. "So…yes, I still want to hang out with you."

She blushed, although he could barely tell through the fiery hue the setting sun had given the air. "I really like you, too." With that, the hesitation and uncertainty between them vanished. They both grinned.

"Friends?" Out of habit, he offered his hand. _Wow, Grayson, that's romantic, right there._

She giggled a little at him. "You're kind of a dork, you know that?" she asked, looking at his hand amusedly.

"Uh…yeah," he laughed at himself, running his fingers through his hair in a bad attempt to make it look like that was what he'd meant to do all along.

"I like it. It's cute." Taking the last step between them, she stretched up slightly and left a soft kiss on his cheek. Her breath danced across his face, and he felt his knees go weak. "Thanks for listening to my story," she whispered in his ear. "I feel a lot better now." She turned to go.

"Hey, wait!" he called after her when he managed to inhale again. She stopped and looked back. "How did you know to come here?"

"I didn't," she confessed, shrugging. "Our house is on the other end, past the public access road. I just came out for a walk after I talked to my dad about you, and you were here. How did _you_ get here?"

"We're renting a house back there," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Weird, huh?"

"Nope. Just fantastic. See you tomorrow," she waved, sending him a fabulous smile before she took off running towards home.

He watched her go until the outline of her silhouette was hard to make out against the dark cliffs flanking the far end of the beach, then slowly made his way back to the boulders he'd left Bruce by. "Hey," he sighed, pressing his back to the rock beside the man. "Pretty sunset." The star was half gone, but what was left painted the high clouds with a changing palette of pastels.

"It is." He hesitated. "How did it go? You were gone a while." The breeze had carried just enough of the conversation his direction for him to be able to tell the emotions in play, but not enough to understand what was being said.

"It went really well, actually." His hand went to his cheek involuntarily, touching the spot where she'd kissed him. _Really__ well._

Spotting the motion and deducing what it indicated, Bruce smirked. "Nice job, Dick."

"Thanks," he grinned back. "Although I have to admit," he jested, "I've had extensive training in the art of wooing."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I've determined that there's actually only one rule to follow when you're trying to convince an intelligent, sensitive girl to give you a chance."

"And that rule would be?"

"Think of everything that Bruce Wayne does to attract vapid socialites whose only goal in life is to marry someone with a greater net worth than that of their fathers, and then do the exact opposite."

To the teen's delight, his guardian threw his head back and laughed, genuinely amused. "Keep that to yourself," he said when he'd recovered. "It's a family secret."

"I think I can fit one more into the vault."

"Good."

They watched the sun sink away without speaking again, content merely to do so together.


	8. Chapter 8

He sat bolt upright in bed, gasping, and found himself in Bruce's arms.

"Hush," the word washed over him as a hand drew circles on his back. "It's all right." The billionaire closed his eyes tightly as his son leaned against him, still breathing roughly as he came down from whatever had woken him so unpleasantly. He, too, had been disturbed by a nightmare, the same one that had plagued him for nearly two months now. _This exact beach probably wasn't the most brilliant of destination choices,_ he rebuked himself, convinced that their jaunt along the sand the evening before had been responsible for the vividness of his own dream. Fueled by the vision, he had slipped over to the other bed for the simple purpose of checking on Dick, and had realized that the teen was working up a night terror, too. He had been about to wake him when he'd snapped out of it on his own. "It was just a dream."

"Ugh," he whispered, keeping his face buried in neck of the man holding him. "Stupid nightmares."

"Yeah. I know."

"…You, too?"

He nodded. "An old one."

"Not like that makes it any better."

"No. It doesn't. Was yours old, too?" he inquired, wondering if it was related to the reminiscing about his parents that he'd been doing in the car on their way to town.

"…No. Mine was new." The hesitancy in his voice caused a frown to appear on Bruce's lips.

"Want to talk about it?"

He sighed, pulling away and laying back down. "It was the little girl that Erwin took. You know, the one you told me about earlier?"

"The tenth death?"

"Yeah. Her."

"…What about her?" he pushed, trying to curb the rage that rose inside of him every time he sensed that the ex-CPS agent was still affecting the boy.

"It was just…everything that they did to her. Erwin, Pezzoli's goons, his clients. I was there the whole time, but I couldn't do _anything_. I couldn't help her. She kept looking right at me and begging me to do something, but…I couldn't. All I could do was watch them destroy her. I wanted to stop them so bad, but…I couldn't."

"You can't blame yourself for what happened," Bruce told him forcefully, knowing that this could become a slippery slope if he started feeling responsible for what had been done to the other children. "You had no way of knowing that something like that was occurring right under everyone's nose. It's not your fault."

"…I went to see her," he confessed.

"What?"

"I went to see her. In the hospital. That afternoon a few weeks ago when Alfred couldn't find me and called you home from the office?"

Bruce gaped at him. "_That's_ where you were? Dick, you practically gave us both heart attacks."

"I left a note."

"You left one sentence that said you were going for a walk. Four hours is a long time to go without checking in after you just take off like that. We thought someone had snatched you off the street or you'd been hit by a car or something when you didn't answer your phone."

"They ask you to turn them off in ICU. That's why I didn't answer. Anyway, I took a cab to the hospital and went up to see her. She wasn't awake or anything, but…I just talked to her. I wanted her to know that he wasn't going to be able to do the things he'd done to her to anyone else, ever again. It…it was really sad, Bruce. I saw her mom. She looked like _she_ should have been admitted, too, just from exhaustion and stress."

"Why did you put yourself through that? Besides telling her about Erwin, I mean."

"…I guess I just needed to pound it into my head how lucky I was that it wasn't _me_ lying there in a coma and you shuffling around like a zombie," he shrugged, looking away. "That's probably a really terrible reason, but…it's _my_ reason." He sniffled, a few tears succumbing to gravity. "I didn't mean to scare you, I was just afraid that if you knew where I was going you'd stop me."

"I would have at least insisted on going with you."

"And that wouldn't have been what I needed."

"Damn it," the billionaire muttered. _This has to end. _"So, the dream."

"Yeah. The dream. I dunno, Bruce. Every time I think I'm done having nightmares about Erwin and the things he did, something else comes up. I hate it."

"Do you want to talk to a psychologist about it? We could try that."

"No," he shook his head. "Psychologists…they don't get it. There's so much that I _can't_ tell them that they're pretty much doomed to not being able to help from the start. Honestly, talking to _you_ about stuff is what works, because you know. You understand things that none of them possibly can, because you've been there, you've seen it, too."

"Okay," he whispered. He loathed the fact that the teen was still having such terrible nightmares, but hearing that he was the only person he wanted to discuss them with certainly didn't hurt his ego. "Do you want to talk about it some more right now, or do you want to try and get a little more sleep?"

"…What time is it? I think we have to get up soon, don't we?"

Leaning over and checking the alarm clock, he groaned. "You're right. It's 3:15."

"We've still got a quarter hour," Dick pointed out, his eyes already closed again. "I don't think that's enough time for another nightmare, so…"

Bruce glanced over at his own bed, disheveled and empty, and then laid down behind his son on the narrow mattress, pressing his back against the wall and pulling the boy close to prevent him falling off the other side. He didn't even try to doze, instead just savoring the weight in his arms. _How much longer will you let me do this? _he wondered. Dick was far more open than most of his peers seemed to be with their parental figures, but he didn't dare hope that would last indefinitely. _How many more months before you protest when I lie beside you in an effort to keep your dreams – and mine - from spiraling out of control, or begin to resent when I want to be told the specifics of an issue you're facing? What am I going to do when that day eventually comes? I don't want it to. I want to fight it, but I know I won't win. And I hate that. As wonderful as it is watching you grow up, I wish I could make it stop, for my own selfish reasons._

When the clock turned to 3:29, he reached over and switched it off to avoid the jarring alarm tone. "Dick?" he said quietly, rubbing his arm. "C'mon, it's time."

He sighed. "Okay. I'm up." The motion on his arm ceased, and he frowned. "You didn't have to stop."

"How were you going to get up if I didn't?" Receiving a huffy silence as an answer, he resumed the petting for a few more minutes, then levered himself upright and slipped down off the foot of the bed. "All right, spoiled. Let's go."

"I'm coming, I'm coming." Keeping his eyes shut, he stood, yawning, and followed Bruce's lead in changing into the daytime clothes Alfred had set out for them the night before. "Where does he think we're going this morning, Antarctica?" he griped as he pulled on a pair of long johns.

"He seems to have done this before," Bruce reminded. "I'm thinking we're going to be grateful for the layers once we get out on the water."

"You're probably right, but it's still annoying. My pants feel tight with these things on underneath."

"All that lobster," the billionaire ribbed.

"It makes me feel fat."

"You are _not_ fat. My god, Dick, don't be stupid." He stopped dressing and stood, arms crossed, glaring at him mildly. "Hey?"

"What?" he said begrudgingly.

"You don't really feel that way, do you?"

"What, fat?"

"Yes."

"…I guess not."

"Good." He picked up a soft, unfamiliar shirt and peered at it in the dark. "Since when do I wear flannel?"

"I thought we were going to be grateful for the layers," Dick smirked, enjoying the thought of his guardian being stuck in plaid all day. "Oh, man," he lamented, his attitude switching from amused to morose as he raised a garment of his own. "I am not a lumberjack, Alfred!" he called out, hoping the butler could hear him from wherever he was in the small house.

"What? Don't tell me you have one too?"

"Jesus Christ, Bruce, I think they _match_."

"…He wouldn't dare." Tearing the button-up from the boy's hand, he carried both shirts into the small pool of light cast by the bedside lamp, emitting a relieved sigh a few seconds later.

"So, do we still have a butler?"

"Yours is green. Mine's blue."

"Oh, thank god."

"But other than that, they're the same."

"…This calls for pranking."

"Later. I think he might be able to hear us, the acoustics in this place are strange."

"Right." As they trooped down the stairs, both shot the obviously delighted Englishman evil glares.

"I see you're both in high spirits this morning, sirs," he remarked with absolutely no sign of sarcasm as he set their plates on the table. "Ready for a day of hard work on the high seas?"

"…Alfred, did you hit your head on something?" Dick asked, his loaded fork halfway to his mouth.

"Certainly not, Master Dick. Why do you ask? Am I acting strangely?"

"'Hard work on the high seas?' Are you serious?"

"And the shirts," Bruce added.

"_And_ the long underwear."

"The woolens are for your comfort, I assure you. You'll be quite cold this morning without them. As for the shirts, are they not to your liking?"

"When have either of us ever looked twice at plaid in anything but disgust?" Bruce inquired.

"Oh, I don't know, sir. Master Dick has a rather striking pair of red and black plaid trousers that I've seen him wear several times. I do wish you'd take the bondage straps off of them before you go out, though, I always worry you'll need to run for some reason and be unable to."

The billionaire nearly choked.

"Those are for punk shows _only_, Alfred!" the teen said, covering his face with his hands. "Not for everyday wear. And you said you wouldn't say anything about them!"

"_Why_ do you own bondage pants?" Bruce groaned. "Stop, wait, don't answer that," he held up a hand. "Don't want to know."

"It's a fashion thing, that's all," he insisted. "I wouldn't know what to do with them even if someone _wanted_ to use them the right way," he added under his breath.

"And now this conversation is over, thank you."

"Agreed." They chewed silently as Alfred, hiding a smile, returned to the kitchen.

Both Bruce and Dick passed out in the backseat of the car almost as soon as the engine started. Unobserved, the butler let a triumphant grin slip onto his face for almost a full minute, watching them in the rearview mirror. He'd chosen his charges' fishing clothing with extreme care, aiming to make their attire as close to matching as he thought he could get away with. _It was probably a rather strange thing to do, _he admitted to himself as he regained his usual neutral mien, _but it was such fun to see the expressions on their faces._ _Besides,_ he allowed, _they do look rather adorable._

They arrived at the marina twenty minutes before they were due on the boat. "Coffee," Bruce droned as they stepped onto the sidewalk. "Need caffeine."

"I believe the café we visited yesterday is open, Master Wayne," Alfred said, leading them towards the welcoming light coming from the store's windows.

"…Who opens up this early in the morning?"

"Coffee shops in fishing towns, sir. Many mariners start their day around this time."

"…Again, you seem to know a lot more about this whole rough-and-rugged coastal living thing than I ever would have suspected, Alfred."

"And again, Master Wayne, I would remind you that I did not spring fully formed from a databank of dedicated servants on the day that you were born."

"…That sounds like something from an Asimov story," Dick frowned. His nap on the way into town had left him relatively clear-headed, considering that he was waking up around the time he'd frequently gone to bed in recent weeks, and he was feeling confident that it was going to be an amazing day. "Only you'd be a robot. You aren't, are you?"

"The last time I checked, Master Dick, I was capable of disobeying all three of Mr. Asimov's Laws of Robotics," the butler played along gamely, glad that the young sir's less-than-exemplary breakfast mood seemed to have lightened. "I merely choose not to, most of the time. I believe that clears my name, does it not?"

"Hypothetically. Your lack of fashion sense is suspicious, since something subjective, like fashion, would be one of the few things I would think a robot could be really bad at."

Bruce stopped at the door and glanced between the other two. "You know, he makes a good point."

"You _do_ need caffeine, Bruce," Dick laughed. "I was joking."

"Additionally, sirs, my fashion sense is quite on par. Your dislike of plaid flannel does not alter the fact that it is admirably serviceable for the task at hand, nor that it suits you both quite well."

"So where's _yours_, Alfred?"

"Plaid has never worked with my coloring, Master Dick."

"Oh, sure. _That's_ convenient, isn't it? We're stuck looking like…I don't know…Northwoods hobos, or something, and you get to wear a more tear-proof version of your normal clothes."

"The perks of being the being the person who does the shopping for forays such as this one are extensive, young sir."

The billionaire rolled his eyes skyward. "Why?" he asked the ceiling. "It's too early. Why am I here? Why do I put up with this?"

"Cause you secretly love it," the teen grinned, bouncing up to the counter. "Can I get a triple shot mocha with fat free milk, please?"

"Fat free milk?" Bruce raised an eyebrow. "We had this talk already once today, didn't we? Put regular milk in it," he ordered the barista.

"Bruce! Really? Hijacking my drink order? Not cool."

"You'll burn it off fishing," he replied. "Black coffee. Alfred?"

"I'm quite all right, sir."

"…Uh-oh," Dick said, his eyes going wide at the thought of calories.

"What now?"

"We're supposed to bring our own food for the day. I, uh…kind of forgot to mention that."

"You're _kidding_."

"I'm sorry, I was distracted by…well, you know," he finished, realizing that in a town this small there was a good chance that several of the people within earshot knew Gina personally.

"It's taken care of, sir," Alfred calmed them both. "There are two full coolers in the trunk of the car. Neither of you will go hungry or thirsty today."

They both visibly relaxed. "I think that almost makes up for these atrocities," Bruce said, fingering the collar of his shirt.

"Almost," Dick clarified.

"…Actually, yours doesn't look all the bad," he replied, considering the boy's outfit.

"Oh, please."

"He's right, honey," the barista offered her opinion, handing them their drinks and taking Bruce's money. "It's cute."

"See? I told you. Even girls think it looks good on you."

"…Maybe you just need to untuck yours."

"Not a chance. We're in public."

"Spoil sport. But hey, at least with girls liking this shirt my concerns that Alfred is actually a robot have been more or less eased."

"I'm quite flattered, young sir, that you once again view me as a fellow human being rather than an automaton."

"No problem," he laughed, sipping his drink.

They arrived at the boat's slip at exactly 5 a.m., trailing two laden coolers on wheels and looking exactly like all of the other charter-goers moving along the docks.

"Couer de Lise," Dick read. "This is it. I remember the name. Hey, Bryant! Are you up there?"

"Master Dick!" Alfred lectured, looking shocked. "Such manners!"

"Hey, he told me to call him Bryant," the teen shrugged. "I started out calling him Mr. Graves, but he didn't like it."

"He's not lying," the fisherman backed him up, stepping onto the ladder set up beside the boat and descending. "Morning, Dick. Glad you made it in time, Gina was worried."

"…She's here?!"

The captain grinned. "She volunteered to be the bait girl today so we can drop a few extra lines for the boat. Thought it was kind of strange, since she said last summer that she hates that part, but I'll take all the free help I can get. Go on up, she's waiting for you."

"Thanks!" Halfway up the ladder he stopped, feeling two familiar stares on his back, and came back down. "Sorry," he said, blushing deeply. "That really _was_ rude of me. Bryant, this is Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth." Introductions complete, he really wanted to run off and find Gina, but he sensed that it wouldn't be in his best interest given the – in Alfred's book, at least – serious faux pas he'd made a minute before.

"Pleased to meet you both," Bryant said, offering his hand.

"Mr. Graves," Bruce shook.

"Just Bryant, if you don't mind. I don't stand much on ceremony. It's never been our way," he explained, turning to Alfred.

"Mr. Graves," the butler intoned, his face a mask. Looking at him at that moment, Dick couldn't tell if the Englishman really liked or really hated the man.

"Now I see where the kid got it," he jested kindly. "If it makes it any easier, some folks call me Captain."

"You have shark fished before, Captain Graves?" Alfred asked, wanting to verify what they'd heard the day before.

"Yup. Been doing it almost since I can remember." He looked him hard in the eye for a second. "I'd wager you've pulled in a couple of nasty ones yourself," he stated.

"…You would not be incorrect in assuming that, Captain," he verified, his face twitching almost imperceptibly at the ease with which his secret had been discerned. "It has been several decades, however."

"Ah, shark fishing's like riding a bike. You never really forget how, same as you never really forget the thrill. This is perfect, we'll have plenty of experienced hands on deck when it comes time to go after those beautiful beasties." He clapped his hands together. "Well, let's get your supplies up and get out on the water. We'll start with the tuna, then switch over to sharks when we get bored or hit our limit. It's about an hour and a half ride out to the grounds, so we should be dropping lines at about daybreak." Turning, he saw Dick bouncing up and down, waiting for him to finish speaking, and his smile widened. "Go on up and let my girl know you're here, would you? If three grown men can't handle a couple of coolers, we're going to have serious issues hauling in what we're chasing today."

Dick required no further prompting to scramble up and disappear onto the boat. Eager to find Gina and get what was likely to be one of the most fun days of his life started, he completely missed the way Bruce's eyes narrowed at the fisherman's back.

**Author's Note: Okay, so this chapter was supposed to be a lot shorter and include the events of the actual charter. Once I started writing it, though, the repartee just flowed and I couldn't help myself. I promise, tomorrow's chapter will bring in the action and mystery.**

**On another note, a guest reviewer asked for elucidation on the dream that Bruce keeps going back to. That dream is detailed in chapter 18 of 'The Ache of Cowardice.' While 'To Catch A Predator' can be read as a stand alone story, there are certain references and nuances that will be missed by anyone who hasn't read the preceding tale.**

**On an Asimov fangirl level, there actually is one of his stories in which a robot learns a sufficient amount about trends in fashion and home design to wow a group of human women. It's called "Satisfaction Guaranteed," and is very much worth your time. You have to admit, though, there ARE aspects of Alfred's character that sometimes make him seem a little metahuman, if not a robot...:)**


	9. Chapter 9

He found her sitting behind the wheel of the boat, studying the GPS. "Hi!" she squealed, spinning around to face him when he said her name. "I was so afraid you weren't going to make it in time."

"I'll admit, it wasn't easy getting out of bed this early."

"Worth it?" she asked coyly.

"I don't know, are you really coming along as bait girl?" When she nodded, he grinned. "Then it was totally worth it."

"This is going to be so much fun! I haven't been out all summer, I've been stuck in the market selling." She rolled her eyes. "I mean, someone has to do it, dad didn't want to ask Margie to sell our stuff for us again this year, but still. Boring."

"Wow. That was really nice of her, selling your stuff with hers."

"Well, she is my godmother."

"Oh. No wonder she recommended we go to you for lobster yesterday."

"She sent you to me because she knows our lobsters are the best," Gina rebutted a little defensively. "Plus, she probably knew I'd think you were cute."

He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it, color flooding his face for the second time in ten minutes. "Uh…thanks," he mumbled. _She thinks I'm cute,_ his brain stuttered.

"So I wanted to ask you something yesterday, but it seemed kind of rude so I didn't," she continued, picking at her nails.

"What's that?" he asked a little warily, knowing his guard was down after her last comment.

"What happened to your lip? I mean, don't get me wrong, it's a cool looking scar, but were you in a car crash or something?"

He laughed, relieved that she hadn't asked about how he came to be Bruce's ward – _although she might already know the basics of that, seeing as how her father recognized me by name,_ he thought – or brought up her dislike of the wealthy. "I had appendicitis about three months ago. I let the pain get really bad before I told Bruce and Alfred, which in hindsight was freaking stupid, and when they finally found out it hurt so bad that I ended up biting through my lip."

"Did you have to have stitches?" she asked, fascinated.

"Yeah. It looked like I had a weird marshmallow on my face for two weeks before the swelling went down."

"Uck. How did you eat?"

"I didn't, really. I got sick because not saying anything caused my appendix to rupture, so I was on IVs practically until my lip was healed. Talking was miserable, though." His stomach churned as he thought about his drugged interview with Erwin. _Bastard, _he growled mentally.

"…Are you okay?"

"Huh?"

"You had this really angry look for a second." She seemed a little taken aback by whatever had flashed across his face, so he gave her his best smile.

"Nah. It just sucked, that's all." _I kind of wish I could tell you more than that. You'd probably understand, especially when you heard about the other kids._

"Oh, okay. Can I look closer at it?" she queried, leaning towards him again.

"…Sure," he agreed. Talking to Gina had more or less ceased to be difficult, but he couldn't keep himself from getting nervous when she got close to him physically. As her fingers traced the fresh scar curiously, he gulped.

"I'll bet it hurt."

"It wasn't as bad as my stomach."

"Can I see that one? The only scars I ever have are from scratching mosquito bites open."

"Uh…" The problem was that he couldn't show her the incision mark without also revealing several others that were clearly _not_ surgical. To his relief, Bryant saved him from having to answer.

"Not in here you can't, Mazu. It's time to get going," the captain said as he ducked into the wheelhouse. "You two going to go out on the deck, or sit in here?"

"The deck's better for not getting sick," Gina explained. "You'll probably be way more comfortable out there. Do you get seasick?"

"I don't know, the only time I've ever been out on the ocean like this was in a _way_ bigger ship." He thought back to the distant trans-Atlantic crossing the circus had made in the cramped passenger quarters of a cargo freighter when he was six, but couldn't remember feeling ill. "I don't think I got sick on that trip."

"It's different on small boats. C'mon, we'll sit on the starboard side so I can show you the lighthouse when we go by." As they were about to leave, an unknown man opened the door down to the bunk area and came up. "Oh, Dick, this is my Uncle Matt."

"Hello," the teen greeted.

"…Hey, kid," the man grunted back at him before turning to the captain to begin a whispered conversation that clearly was not meant for their ears.

"Don't worry about Uncle Matt," Gina confided once they'd taken a seat on the bench behind the wheelhouse. "He's been really prickly the last six months or so, ever since he lost his boat. He's actually really nice."

"Did it sink or something?"

She shook her head. "No, he had to declare bankruptcy. The boat was the only thing he really had, so the bank took it."

"That's awful. How did they expect him to live? Isn't he a fisherman, too?"

"He's a good fisherman, just not a very good businessman. Dad let him come live with us and work as a deckhand until he can get back on his feet. That's part of the reason I haven't been out much this summer, is because Uncle Matt's been doing the things I normally do on the boat."

They talked until they were clear of the wake zone, at which point the engines made understanding anything that wasn't shouted impossible. Unable to carry on a conversation, they just huddled together in the wind and light spray that made it over the roof of the wheelhouse, laughing when a particularly hard bump or an awkwardly angled swell threw them against one another.

Bruce watched them surreptitiously in between stolen moments of half-sleep. The girl seemed okay; at the very least, being near her this morning was keeping a happy smile on his son's face, and after the events of the last few months that was sufficient for her to earn his approval. He was far less enamored with her father, although he couldn't quite discern why. There was just something about the man that he didn't like.

They reached the tuna grounds just after daybreak. "Okay," Bryant clapped his hands together as he came out onto the deck, his brother following close behind him. "Let's get this going. We'll use the kites this morning, Matt; the wind seems pretty steady. They're all over the place down there, so we should start getting hit right away."

"You want me to help set up, dad?" Gina asked, preparing to hop down from her seat.

"No, Mazu, don't worry about it. Just have fun. You earned a day off." Seeing the earnest look on both the teenagers' faces at that, he grinned. He hadn't seen his daughter as relaxed and carefree as she seemed to be with the boy in a long time. There was no way he was going to let work that could be done by his hapless sibling interfere with Gina having a chance to just be a crushing, flirty teenage girl for a day.

They watched as the first line was let out and the pole settled into a nearby plastic holder along the edge of the deck wall. "That one's yours, kid," Matt grumbled before moving on to prepare another line.

"Now we just wait for something to bite," Gina shrugged. "I hope it's not too long. I can't wait for your expression when you see how big these tuna can get."

"…That's all there is to it? Just throw out some bait and wait for the fish to take it?"

"Oh, it looks easy now, son," Bryant broke in. "But once you've got that tuna fighting you on the line, your attitude will change, guaranteed."

Ten minutes later, Dick learned the full extent of the captain's words when his pole bent into a parabola. "Whoa!" He jumped for it, Gina close behind him, and managed to get it out of the holder and in his hands. Realizing that he had no idea what to do from there, he simply held on as tightly as he could, feeling a tremendous amount of pull radiating into his arms as the reel spun madly near his fingers.

"Matt, pull the other lines out!" Bryant barked. "Mazu, turn the boat by me!" He was behind the boy in an instant, touching the pole expertly without trying to take it. "Okay, this is the fun part," he jested. "Pull up hard on three, we have to set the hook. One, two, three!" They yanked up together, and for a moment Dick was absolutely certain that the line had to break. _There's no way this can hold,_ he thought_. The forces involved are too strong. Physics just doesn't work like that_. "Fifteen to port!" the captain hollered over the engines. "She's running hard," he muttered, pressing a gloved thumb against the drag in an attempt to slow the loss of line. "Just hold her steady. Don't let go, this is my lucky pole."

The line went slack without warning. "Reel! Reel like crazy!" the fisherman practically squealed. "Get the line tight again. Mazu, flip us around! Dick, walk towards the stern as quickly as you can, and keep bringing that line in. She's gonna go right under us. _Don't _slip, the deck is wet."

What Bryant had no way of knowing was that the teen beside him had slipped into Robin mode almost as soon as he'd sensed the strength of the tuna. He approached the fish as he would an enemy, paying attention to every slight change in the line and trying to predict the creature's next move. Moving along the perimeter of the deck easily, he balanced on his toes as if it were just another icy Gotham rooftop in spite of the fact that the surface beneath him was rolling and pitching in the waves. He'd just reached the rear of the boat when the rod began to bend downwards again. Without being told to do so, he assumed a broad stance and jerked upwards as he had when setting the hook, then reeled back down. Each pull was only a tiny hitch, but the method consistently let him gain a few inches.

"That's it, damn, you're a natural! I love this kid!"

"It's going left," he informed the captain, not stopping his bout of tug-of-war.

"That's okay, I think she's just testing her limits. You just keep doing what you're doing. If she runs again, let her, but I don't think she will." Dick nodded tersely, all of his focus on bringing the fish in as quickly as possible. As the adrenaline from the exciting first moments of the bite wore off, he was forced to recognize the ache in his arms and shoulders that grew stronger with each tug. His fingers were just starting to go numb from gripping the pole when there was a bright flash at the surface of the water. "Holy shit, boy, you don't screw around, do you?" Bryant yipped. "That's at least a four hundred pounder."

"Dick," Bruce called his name, concerned both by the weight class the captain had said the fish was in and by the fact that he could see him trembling with the effort of having spent almost twenty minutes dragging the beast in. "Maybe you should-"

"I've got it," the teen replied, gritting his teeth to overcome the muscle exhaustion spreading through his entire body. He knew what his guardian had been about to suggest, but this was _his_ fish. "Leslie said five hundred, remember?"

"Sure you've got it!" Bryant crowed. "Get her a little closer so we can harpoon her."

The billionaire wanted to object, _strenuously_, but a small head shake from Alfred convinced him to hold his tongue. "Let it be, sir," the butler said quietly. "It's nearly done in any case, and the fish seems to be under the weight limit imposed by Dr. Thompkins."

It took less than five minutes more for the giant tuna to be harpooned, bled, and harnessed. As Bryant and Matt prepared to haul it into the deck, Dick moved up towards the wheelhouse, joining the other three with a tired but triumphant grin on his face.

"Great job!" Gina squeaked, throwing her arms around his neck. "I've never even caught a four hundred pounder!"

"You okay?" Bruce asked.

"That was so awesome," he replied, his eyes shining from a mixture of pride and girl. "It's definitely your turn now, though. I need a break."

There was a loud thunk as the fish hit the deck. "Okay, Dick, I'm impressed," Bruce admitted, one eyebrow arching as he studied the glistening creature. "I still wish you'd let someone help you, though."

"Nah, he's a pro! He didn't need any help to land that sucker," the captain said, coming up and giving the teen an overzealous pat on the back that nearly knocked him over. Reaching out to steady him, Bruce sent the fisherman a dark look, but just received a smile back. "You ready to catch _your_ giant tuna, Mr. Wayne? Can't let your boy skunk you," he winked before turning away. "Matt, let's get this underneath so we have room to work."

It didn't take long for there to be a hit on the new line that was set out for the billionaire. Sitting next to Gina and eating the sandwiches that Alfred kept pushing on him, Dick watched his guardian re-enact the battle he'd just completed with a smile on his face. When the second fish neared the boat, the girl jumped up to help gaff it, letting Bruce slink back to take her place a moment later. "Fun, huh?" the teen inquired.

"…Yes," he confessed, looking at him sideways and grimacing as if the admission caused him pain. "I have to admit, I enjoyed that."

"Here. Food," he offered, tearing his sandwich in half. "I was freaking _starving_ after I brought mine in."

"You should finish it," he lectured, leaning against the wall behind him and closing his eyes.

"It's like my fifth one. Alfred keeps handing them to me. Take it."

"…Thanks." He swallowed a quarter of it in one bite. "…Where is Alfred, anyway?"

Dick laughed. "Now it's _his_ turn. I think they're going to set out a line on the other side for Gina."

"He'll probably catch a thousand pounder and leave us both in the dust."

"That would be so cool!" He paused. "…What are we going to do with all this fish, anyway?"

"I'm trying not to think about that right now." _We'll probably eat nothing but tuna for the next two years,_ he griped to himself. _What the hell, though. It __is__ fun. It's a good fight without anyone shooting at you, and there are no innocent bystanders to worry about._ "I'll bet we both sleep well tonight," he muttered.

"Mm-hm. Maybe we'll even be too tired for nightmares." Letting his eyelids drop shut, he leaned over until Bruce's shoulder was supporting his head and dozed.

"…Sirs?" The word woke them both an hour or so later.

"Oh, crap, did we miss you catching your tuna, Alfred?" Dick asked guiltily as he scrubbed a hand over his face.

"It's quite all right, Master Dick. This was not my first, after all, and while Miss Graves and I were both successful, our fish are nothing compared to the behemoth you managed."

"…So mine's still the biggest?"

"By a fair margin, young sir. Miss Graves' fish was just slightly smaller than Master Wayne's, and my own was outstripped by hers."

"Yeah, it seems like the big ones were moving out just as we got here," Bryant threw in, passing their familial grouping on his way into the wheelhouse. "If you're all ready, I thought we'd move a little to the east and chase some sharks. There's been good mako catches out that way the last few days."

"It's shark time?!" the teen said, any tiredness that had been left in his expression fleeing at the thought.

"What are you, excited?" Bruce nudged him with a grin.

"Uh, _yeah_," he rolled his eyes with a smile as if the man were slightly stupid for even having to ask. "Aren't you?"

He shrugged. _I'm less than thrilled about the thought of you reeling in something that could take a limb off with one bite,_ he didn't tell him as the boat's engines started up. Gina, who had been helping slide the last two tuna into the compartment under the deck, came forward and perched on the edge of the bench next to Dick. She whispered something, received an eager nod, and then dropped her head onto his arm and began her own nap, waking only when they reached their destination.

As had been the case with the tuna, Dick was the first one to hook a shark. Bryant left his tending of the chum slick, which was attracting more hungry predators by the minute, to hustle over, but the teen set the hook before the captain reached him. "Ow!" The word slipped out of the teen's mouth as there was a tremendous pull in the opposite direction, slamming his legs into the side of the boat. Narrowing his eyes and regaining his stance, he yanked right back and began to reel furiously.

Hearing him, Bruce, Alfred and Gina's heads whipped around. Their timing was perfect; just as all three of their gazes trained on the boy, the ten foot long mako leapt upwards at the end of his line, its entire body in motion as it flipped through the air. There was a split second of silence, lacking even the click of the reel as Dick stopped hauling in line in favor of staring in awe, before the captain's hoot of joy echoed across the water. "Yeeeah!" he cheered. "That's a nice one! Look at that big bastard!" he added as the shark performed another aerial feat and crashed back into the water. Shaking himself, the teen gave another pull and fell into a state of concentration so intense that he didn't even notice the others gathering behind him, three watching the fish, two watching him.

The predator jumped time and again, each ascent ending closer to the boat as its leash was shortened. After five breaches, it stayed under the surface, a fin occasionally breaking into view. "Get the gun, Matt," Bryant ordered.

"_Gun?_" Bruce asked sharply. "What for?" Hearing the tone in his voice, Dick's reeling faltered for an instant.

"We can't bring that thing on board without killing it. Makos bite even when they're out of the water," the captain explained. "They're tricky. I've seen them get dragged right up alongside a boat, seemingly worn out, and then start thrashing and snapping so hard they almost capsize you. Shooting them is just a safety precaution I take." As he finished speaking, the deckhand reappeared bearing a large caliber pistol. "Go ahead and take care of it, I'll get things ready to haul it up."

Dick stared at the black eyed shark that floated just underwater less than ten feet away. It seemed to list slightly, almost rolling onto its side as the waves buffeted it. He felt a surge of guilt, remembering how magnificent this ocean denizen had been as it flew above its natural habitat. _We're alike in that way,_ he thought, still holding the pole tightly but no longer reeling as Matt leaned over the side and took aim. _We're born to live in the water or on the ground, but the air is where we perform our most impressive displays. I'm sorry it has to end this way for you. _The gun fired, making the teen flinch.

The shark dove hard.

He would never be able to quite untangle the exact events of the next few seconds. All he knew was that he went from standing on deck with a docile and soon to be dead fish on his line to clinging to the boat railing with one hand, up to his knees in water that he had no doubt was teeming with sharks other than his own. Above him he could hear Gina screaming. Through some combination of stubbornness and stupidity he'd managed to keep the pole clenched in his fingers as he went overboard, and he could feel his opponent struggling, whipping back and forth on the end of the line. _The line's not that long any more, either,_ he reminded himself. _It's what, maybe six or seven feet from me right now? _Daring a peek down into the dark water, he would have sworn he could see a tail swishing furiously. The line went slack, and he knew it was turning towards him. Drawing his legs up, he prepared to kick out at anything that came out of the water.

_This is how I die,_ he thought with eerie calm, time seeming to slow as he waited for the shark to strike.

**Author's Note: Okay, readers, please don't hate me for the cliff hanger, and the lack of mystery. Dick being pulled off of the boat was just too perfect for me to walk away from. I swear to you that crime will come into play in tomorrow's chapter. And yes, before you all think I've lost my mind, Robin will still be around to help solve it. **


	10. Chapter 10

A hand closed on his arm and wrenched him upwards, dragging him back onto the boat and into an embrace so tight that he thought his ribs might crack. He heard a tiny, fearful whimper escape the man clutching him. "Don't you _ever_ scare me like that again," Bruce whispered fiercely against his ear before releasing him so that he could look him up and down. "You're soaking-"

"Gah!" Dick cried out in surprise as the line tightened, nearly causing him to take another swim. "Shiiit," he drew out, turning back towards the water and giving the reel a half-crank. "Could somebody please kill this thing?" he requested. Any remorse he'd felt about ending the predator's life had fled, leaving him once again thinking of it as just another opponent to be bested. The shark pounded against the side of the boat where he had been dangling thirty seconds earlier, all flailing fins and flashing teeth. Bryant ripped the gun from his brother's hand, leaned over the edge, and fired. A second later, the fight was over, the mako drifting, dead, on the swells.

"Matt, I can't believe you _missed _with it that close in. Here, we'll finish up," the captain said, taking the pole from the boy's hands so that Bruce could lead him the few steps to the nearest bench. He followed them with his eyes before sending an approving glance towards Gina, who was standing a few feet away and mouthing the words 'so cool' over and over again.

"Okay," the billionaire said shakily, kneeling in front of his son. "I think we're about done shark fishing."

Dick was highly unsettled, but even given what had just happened he couldn't help but let a wildcat grin slip onto his lips. "Oh, c'mon, Bruce," he whispered teasingly as he started to tremble. "Aren't you having fun?"

The billionaire's eyes bulged. "Are you – did – did you just _crack a joke_?" His expression fluctuated between rage and horrified amusement. "_You could have been eaten alive!"_ he hissed angrily, grabbing him above his elbows and shaking him to reinforce his point.

"But I _wasn't_," the teen insisted. "And look. Look at that thing," he held out an unsteady hand to indicate the creature that had just been flopped onto the deck. The sight of it helped him come down off of his adrenaline high. "That thing is _amazing_, and yes it could have made me its lunch, but it _didn't_. It didn't because I kicked its ass, and now _we're _going to eat _it_. And it's probably going to be the best thing I've ever tasted. You have to admit, Bruce, that's…that's pretty fucking awesome."

Alfred decided that given the circumstances he would allow the gutter language to slide. Instead, he rested his hand on his other charge's shoulder. "That was quite a performance, Master Dick," he complimented. For all that he, too, was shaken by how close they had just come, _again_, to losing him, the fact that the boy had continued fighting until he'd been successful made him immensely proud. He knew that Bruce would feel the same once he'd gotten over his panic, and was even more certain that the best way to cause that to happen was to treat the event as lightly as possible. "I had a similar experience myself, long ago," he shared.

"You did?" They jinxed each other.

"Indeed, sirs," he nodded, their stunned looks warming him to his story. "Many years ago I found myself with the opportunity to hunt sharks off of the coast of South Africa. There was a bounty on the head of a certain Great White that had attacked several people, and being young and using less of our intelligence than we ought to have my companions and I determined to catch it and collect the reward. We successfully brought in several Great Whites during our weekend hunt, but none proved to be the killer. On Sunday afternoon, we hooked the largest one we'd seen yet. We estimated he must have been at least seventeen feet in length, based on how he looked when he jumped – much as your shark, did, Master Dick – while we reeled him in. It was much too heavy of a task for one person, especially since we'd been fishing for two days already, so we switched off. I happened to be holding the rod when the first shot was taken. Unfortunately, it merely angered the already unhappy creature, and he took off. I found myself in the water, a number of feet from the boat, with god only knew what circling nearby, and utterly disoriented from the strange position in which I hit the surface. My companions were good enough to pull me to safety before anything could attack, but we failed to get the shark. To this day I still believe that he was the one we were searching for," he sighed wistfully.

"Wait, you didn't get him? How come?"

"Simple, Master Dick. _I_ let go of the pole."

"Oh." The teen blushed. "Sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for, young sir. It was merely how I reacted. Had I been in your place just now, I may have done as you did, or I may have let go again. The point is, _you_ held on tenaciously, and landed an exemplary specimen. We shall have to ensure that its jaws are properly preserved so that you can have them as a display piece."

"Thanks, Alfred!" he smiled, looking relieved. "I kind of figured you'd be mad at me, too," he admitted.

"I'm not _mad_ at you," Bruce growled, sensing where the butler's sympathies lay and not liking it. _I just don't ever want you to pick up a fishing pole in anything deeper than a foot of water again._

"Well why _would_ you be mad, Mr. Wayne?" Bryant came up, teeth showing from ear to ear, Gina on his heels. "I've never seen a catch like that. I think I'd probably have let go of the pole, personally. One _hell_ of a class-act kid you've got. I'll be telling people about this for years." He jerked his head towards the shark. "Thought you might want pictures with it before we shoved it underneath. It's very, very dead," he said quickly in reaction to the murderous glare Bruce turned on him.

"Sweet!" Dick said, seemingly completely over the events of the last five minutes. Sliding out past his guardian, he walked fearlessly up to the creature and fell to his knees in front of it. "Alfred, did you bring a camera? _No one_ is going to believe this without pictures. I can't wait until we're back in cell phone range so I can text Wally. He'll probably freaking _explode_ with jealousy."

"I did, Master Dick," he verified. Seeing the look in Bruce's eyes that told him the man was still mildly unhinged, he sighed. "Miss Graves, would you be so kind as to do the honors?" he asked, handing the device to her.

"Sure," she said. "You should hold its mouth open so you can see all the teeth in the picture!" she suggested as she joined Dick, already astride the monster shark.

"Captain Graves," he turned to him. "Do you mind if we borrow your wheelhouse for just a moment?"

"…Did I hear you say you fished Great Whites?" the fisherman asked, awed.

"Yes, sir, you did. It was quite an experience. Now, if you don't mind…your wheelhouse?"

"Oh, sure, go right ahead. We'll hang out here with the kids, get the chum slick started back up. Unless you're done," he said, seeing Bruce's nostrils flare. "I completely understand if you want to stop, that was a pretty close scrape. I'd probably want to call it a day if my Gina had been the one to go over the railing."

"No more sharks," the billionaire managed.

"Master Wayne, if you would follow me, please?" the butler ground out before he turned and walked into the wheelhouse.

"What is it, Alfred?" he asked, clearly annoyed, as soon as the door was shut behind them. The last thing he wanted to do at that moment was discuss things civilly, which was no doubt what his butler had planned. What he _did_ want to do was strangle Bryant Graves for letting a child – _my child_, he growled – try to handle a creature like that on his own when he knew what they were capable of. What he wanted to do even more, as irrational as he knew it to be, was sequester the boy someplace far from any possible harm and keep him there for the rest of his life. _Then__ I'll take care of Graves. I can't believe he lets his daughter fish for sharks. I'll bet he watches her a hell of a lot closer than he was watching Dick. _

"You simply _have _to calm down, Master Wayne," the Englishman insisted, fixing him with a steely look. "If you don't, you're going to ruin this for him, and I know you do not want that."

"Alfred, you _saw_ what happened out there!" he snapped. "Graves _knows _what these things can do, he should have taken measures to ensure that nothing of that sort could happen! His brother missing the shot is probably exactly what spooked the shark and made it take off. If Dick hadn't managed to grab the rail and hold on, he would have been dragged under and either drowned or torn to pieces, _with us watching. _ How can you expect me to just be okay with that?!"

"I expect no such thing, sir," he rebutted firmly. Taking a deep breath, he forced the anger out of his voice before he spoke again. "What I expect is for you to consider the situation as it actually is. Captain Graves had no way of knowing that the shark would pull as it did at that exact moment, and that it would be enough to pull the boy off balance. Far more importantly, Master Dick is fine in spite of what occurred. In fact, he is more than fine; he seems rather pleased with the extra difficulty he had to go through. I have seen him come home from many patrols in far worse shape both physically and mentally than he was in when he came back onto this boat."

Seeing that Bruce had nothing to say to that, he went on, his tone gentling. "I know how very frightening it was, sir. I truly do. I thought all was lost when he went over the edge like he did." He allowed himself a small shudder as he remembered. "You have every reason to have been scared, and to hate the thought of something like that ever happening again. However, you also have every reason to be immensely proud, because he did _exactly_ what you have trained him to do. He held on, he fought like a mad fiend, and when it was over he adjusted to the experience quickly and ably. He just accomplished a feat that has defied grown men," he said pointedly. "Myself among them. Isn't that something to congratulate him for?"

"…Alfred, I get what you're saying, but it's not that easy. The dreams I've been having…I should have taken us as far inland as I could for this vacation. I don't know why I thought coming to the coast was a good idea." He turned away, still shaking slightly.

"What are you talking about, sir?" As Bruce explained, telling him about the nightmare of something in the sea stealing the boy from him while he was held in place and unable to reach him, his face softened. "Ah. I understand," he commiserated when the man had finished surreptitiously wiping a few tears from his cheeks, "but I beg you to paste on a smile in any case. If you spend the rest of the day sullen and miserable because you're trying not to show just how terrified you were in front of others, you will cast a pall on this memory that will shade it for the rest of his life. He is rarely able to be so completely unburdened as he seems at this moment, and such opportunities will only wane as he grows closer to adulthood. Helping him make this a day to treasure is the kindest thing you could possibly do for him."

"…Okay, Alfred. You win." He sighed, knowing the other man was right but not liking it in the least. "Let's go back out there."

"Very good, sir," the butler said approvingly.

"Hey, Bruce!" Dick called as they stepped back out onto the deck. "You have to come pet this guy, his skin is _so_ weird."

The billionaire forced a tiny smile onto his face as he joined him, noting that he'd stripped down to his tee shirt after the exertion of landing the shark. Running his fingers across the top of the grey head, he made a face, and the teen laughed at him.

"It's totally gross, right?"

"Totally," he repeated. Alfred was right; his boy was absolutely loving this. _It isn't right of me to tarnish that, _he admitted. Glancing around, he found Alfred busy in the coolers, Matt doing something in the bow, and Bryant and Gina peering through binoculars at something in the distance. Confident that they couldn't be overheard if they kept their voices down, he leaned forward a little. "…Do you want to keep fishing?"

"…You mean you'd actually _let_ me? I kind of figured you were going to lock me up in my room and throw away the key. You…you looked really freaked out a little while ago. Seeing you like that was almost scarier than hanging off the side of the boat waiting to get eaten."

He met his gaze. "Yes, I was scared; I'll admit that, to you. But, as Alfred was careful to point out, you're fine. You're taking this better than I am, by far. There's no way of knowing how many more days we're going to get together like this, and I don't want any of them to carry bad memories if it can be avoided." As he spoke the words, he discovered that they were true. It had just taken his butler's insistence to make him realize as much. "I want to do what _you_ want to do. Within reason," he added quickly, knowing his son.

"…You were really _that_ scared, Bruce? I mean, you were right there, I was only over the edge for a couple seconds before you had me."

"Dick, I was petrified. You _know_ I was. You know how I feel."

"Yeah." He looked up at him through his eyelashes. "…I just like hearing it sometimes, that's all," he smirked playfully.

"Needy child," Bruce cursed him lovingly.

"Yup. All your fault, too." He leapt to his feet. "Hey, Bryant, can we keep fishing? Bruce says it's okay."

Hours passed. As he watched his son, the billionaire's suppressed fear drained away. The boy simply couldn't get enough of the large carnivores that circled the boat all afternoon; he reeled in three more before announcing that his arms would fall off if he tried for another, and even then he grew excited when someone else brought one in. By six the holds under the deck were all but bulging with fresh seafood, and they had limited out on sharks. Dick, content and exhausted, nodded off as they turned towards port, and slept with Bruce's arm around his shoulders the entire way in. Stirring as they docked, he yawned. "How're we going to keep all the fish cold?" he asked blearily.

"Don't worry about that," Gina said, coming out of the wheelhouse where she, too, had been asleep. "Dad's friend Gary has a processing shop here in town specifically for charters. He'll have a couple of his guys come out and unload the fish, and they'll get them packaged and frozen before you leave town." A voice called her back inside, and she excused herself with a sigh.

"I don't even know how we'll get that much of it _home_," Bruce realized once she was gone.

"We could leave most of it to the boat," Dick suggested. "Take, like, a hundred and fifty pounds of tuna and my evil shark, plus the jaws, and give the rest to Bryant. I'll bet they could probably sell it for a lot."

"That's a wonderful idea, Master Dick," Alfred said.

"Bruce? Please?"

"Okay," he concurred after a moment's thought, his great dislike of the captain pulling against his willingness to help the girl. "Let's do that."

"What's going on, now?" Bryant asked, stepping onto the deck with Gina behind him.

"…First things first," the billionaire said, pulling out his wallet and removing a check. "Here's the rest of the payment for today."

"Thanks," Bryant said, folding it and handing it to Gina without so much as glancing to make sure it was for the correct amount.

"Alfred will tell you what we'd like done with the fish."

"Sure. Mazu, you find out what they'd like and write it all down for me. I'll help get these coolers offloaded." Once both boxes were down, the captain joined Dick and Bruce on the dock and offered his hand to each in turn. "Son, it was a real pleasure. That was a damned impressive thing you did today with that shark. Lucky, too. I'm telling you, I'll be getting mileage out of that for _years_." He laughed and turned to Bruce. "Mr. Wayne, your patronage and patience were much appreciated. If I might offer a piece of advice, though?"

"…What would that be?" he asked, tight-lipped.

"Buy that boy of yours a big boat and plenty of tackle. I could be wrong, but he _seems_ to like fishing." Laughing, he waved goodbye and disappeared back onto the _Couer de Lise._

Alfred climbed down a moment later. "Miss Graves has our requests and has assured me they will be filled, although she was rather flummoxed by the generous gift of so much of our catch," he informed them, straightening his cuffs as they started towards the car. "I made sure, Master Dick, to let her know that it was your idea. I'll take that cooler from you, Master Wayne."

"Take Dick's. He caught more than I did today, I'm sure he's tired."

"Thanks, Alfred. I _am_ really tired," he yawned. _I'm glad we could help them. Maybe they can use some of that to help Matt get his boat back._

"Too tired for a celebratory dinner out?" Bruce asked. _I need a drink, after today._

"Really? Cool," the teen grinned. They never went out to eat; Alfred was too good of a cook and their schedules were too different for that to normally be an option. "I could go for some oysters."

"I am _not_ watching you slurp those disgusting things straight out of the shell. The last time you did that at a party you almost made me sick."

"_Everyone_ was slurping oysters at that party, Bruce. You were the weirdo who kept refusing to try them." He shrugged. "That was okay, though, cause that meant that I got to eat your share." He rubbed his arms absentmindedly as the coolers were loaded into the trunk. "I have to go back to the boat," he said suddenly.

"You'll see her tomorrow, Dick. Let's go," the billionaire said, assuming it was the girl that was drawing him down to the docks.

"No, it's not that," he negated. _Although I wouldn't say no to a goodnight kiss. Or a hug. Or both. _"I left my shirt behind."

"I thought you found the garment to be in poor taste, Master Dick," Alfred said mildly, the corners of his mouth creasing in a slight smirk.

"First, it became acceptable as soon as girls started liking it. Second, my arms are cold, and that's the only thing with sleeves that I have with me."

"Go get it, then," Bruce sighed. "We'll wait here."

"Okay, cool. Be right back!" He took off at a run, crossing the street and disappearing down the ramp back to the marina.

"Hey, Alfred?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Thank you for what you said earlier. I…I needed that. You were right, I would have ruined his day, the way I was acting. Even if it was justified," he clarified.

"Congratulations, Master Wayne."

"Huh?"

"I believe six years of Master Dick's influence may have finally given you more control over yourself than either of us would ever have thought possible."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, sir, first your…_restraint_ regarding a certain Social Services agent-"

"Clark. I'll wring his neck, I swear…"

"Mr. Kent did not need to tell me the details, as I'm sure you're well aware," the butler cut him off. "And then, today, your ability to regain control despite what I suspect was an absolutely towering rage towards Captain Graves. You not only kept a civil tongue with the man, you allowed a kind gesture towards him to go through and even managed to enjoy yourself in his presence. Unless I am mistaken?"

"…No. You're right," he said quietly, staring towards where Dick had vanished. Somewhere down amongst the boats he thought he heard a familiar popping sound, but being unfamiliar with what an ocean port sounded like around dark he wrote it off. Watching the lights of small craft making their way in and out of the busy harbor, he thought about what Alfred had said. "I made myself focus on Dick, on making him happy instead of on making Graves pay for nearly getting him killed with his stupidity."

"He's wrought some very good changes in you, Master Wayne. I have been quite pleased to watch them come about."

"…Thanks, Alfred," he whispered, feeling heat behind his eyes and trying to ignore it.

"My pleasure, sir." They waited for a while in silence.

"Damn it, where is he?" Bruce griped, glancing at his watch as his stomach complained.

"Perhaps he took a moment to exchange a few words with Miss Graves," the butler ventured. "The two of them seem to have developed a close friendship very quickly."

"I'd say it's a little more than a friendship. She kissed him last night on the beach."

"…Did she really, sir? How wonderful." Seeing the look that was thrown his way, he inquired further. "Don't you agree?"

"…Too damn fast," was all he heard of the mumbled reply.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said he's growing up too damn fast."

"Ah," Alfred chuckled lightly. "Yes. Children do tend to do that. It's quite unnerving, isn't it?" There was no answer, but Bruce suddenly straightened from where he'd been leaning against the car. "Sir?" He followed his gaze to where Dick had just stumbled off of the top of the ramp.

"Something's wrong," was all he said before he started across the street at a jog, meeting his son on the opposite sidewalk. "What is it?" he asked, seeing the look on his face. "Dick?" Pulling him into the light of a streetlamp and spotting the blood that had saturated the boy's clothing, he gasped. "Oh, Jesus Christ, where are you hurt?"

"…It's not mine," he managed as he felt Bruce's hands running over him, checking for injuries.

"What?"

"Good heavens," Alfred muttered as he reached them and immediately began his own search for damage. "Come over here and sit down," he directed the teen, leading him to one of the benches set out for passersby. "Where are you hurt, child?"

"It's not mine," he repeated numbly. "It's Bryant's. He's…he's dead."


	11. Chapter 11

"…He's _dead_?" Bruce repeated. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I checked. I thought maybe I could save him, but…it was too late." He shook his head. "It's his blood."

The billionaire closed his eyes as Alfred pulled out his mobile and stepped away to call 911. After a second he sat down next to the boy, pulling him in tightly and hushing him as he felt shudders running through his body. "Where are the others?" he asked gently.

"Matt's down there, too. I don't know if he's okay or not, he wasn't moving…I didn't check, I just came back when I realized Bryant was dead."

"What about Gina?"

"I dunno. I think…I think they took her."

"They?"

"There were four of them. I…_Gina_…" Pushing away from Bruce, he straightened, took a deep breath, and shook himself. "Okay. Let's try this again," he started over, his face still pinched with emotion but seeming more controlled.

"…Robin?" he ventured quietly, seeing no one along their side of the street who might overhear.

"Sorry," came whispered back. "It's easier this way."

"It's okay. Tell me."

"I went to get my shirt. I didn't see anyone on the way down, until I turned onto the section that the boat was docked on. Matt was already on the ground, and Bryant was talking to four people, all wearing ski masks. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I slipped over into the shadows so they weren't as likely to see me. It seemed like Bryant was getting angry about something, and then…and then one of them shot him. The gun must have been silenced, because it was really quiet. I didn't realize he'd pulled the trigger until Bryant dropped."

Bruce remembered the _pop_ he'd heard shortly before Dick reappeared, and cursed. _I knew it sounded familiar. Why the hell didn't I investigate?_

"They all got on the boat. I don't know where Gina was, I didn't hear her scream or anything, and I didn't hear another shot, so…she must still be alive, right? Right?"

"I hope so, chum," he murmured.

"They took the boat. I don't know where they were going, I couldn't hear them talking." He smashed the palm of his hand into the metal beneath him. "I should have _done_ something!"

"No," the billionaire shook his head. "You couldn't have done anything."

"I could have stopped them! Bryant is _dead_ because I didn't do anything."

"How would you have explained that? You were maskless, and obviously the same person who had just left the boat a few minutes before. You didn't have that option."

"Who cares?" he burst out, his control breaking. "Bryant would be alive, and Gina wouldn't be a captive being carted off to who knows where. I think they'd probably be willing to keep a secret in exchange for their lives, don't you? She's _beautiful_, Bruce, you _know_ what they're likely to do with her. They didn't hesitate to shoot a guy point blank, so what would keep them from hurting her?" A single police car pulled up to the curb, lights flashing, and in the red and blue Bruce could see tears pouring down the teen's face. "We have to do something," he insisted, gripping his guardian's arm tightly.

"Master Dick," Alfred called, alerting them to the fact that he was approaching with an officer in tow. "The police need to speak with you."

He told the police the same story he'd told Bruce. "After the boat pulled away and I knew they couldn't see me, I went to go check, you know, if Bryant was alive. He…he wasn't."

"Is that where all this came from?" the officer queried, gesturing to the drying blood on the teen's shirt and pants.

"Yes, ma'am." Her radio squawked as her partner called to report on what he'd found on the docks. "Go ahead."

"Bryant Graves is dead."

"Goddamn," she said. "He and I went for a while in high school. What a shame. Is Matt down there with him?" she asked.

"Unconscious, but breathing. Looks like he took a blow to the back of the head. I've already called for an ambulance."

"…What would you say caused the death?" she asked, trying to corroborate what Dick had told her.

"Someone blew his head off."

Grimacing, Bruce pulled his son close again. "I'm sorry," he whispered as the police chatter continued. "I should have gone with you."

"It's not your fault."

"Okay," the officer broke back in. "Is there anything else you think I should know?"

"…I think Gina was still on the boat when they took it. I mean, I don't _know_ that, but I didn't see her, and there wasn't really time for her to go anywhere. I turned back right after we got up here."

"…Why'd you go back down, again?"

"I left a shirt on the boat. I just went back to get it."

"Huh. Okay. Well, I'm going to need a good way to get in contact with you, in case we have any more questions. You're visiting, right?"

"Yeah."

"Better give me your home info, too, in case we don't get this wrapped up this weekend." Bruce handed her a business card, and she whistled. "So…just here on vacation, then, Mr. Wayne?"

"Yes. Didn't you hear what Dick told you?"

"You considering investing around here at all? We could sure use a shot in the arm, economically speaking," she went on, ignoring his warning tone.

"I don't know, officer," he sniped, standing up and pulling the teen with him. "Are you considering investigating this murder?"

"…Excuse me?"

"I'm hesitant to spend money in places where homicides witnessed by children are of less concern to the police than local revenue. If you want to speak with him, you go through me. If you require proof of guardianship in order to do that, I'll have my lawyer contact you. Have a nice night." With that, he stalked away, guiding Dick across the street, Alfred right behind them.

"Hey, wait, Mr. Wayne, you should have the boy checked out for shock," she called after them. The butler turned back to explain his qualifications in such matters, leaving his charges to shut themselves in the car.

Pulling his seatbelt across, Dick's hand brushed the tacky substance he was covered in. Baring his teeth with a faint moan of disgust, he stripped off his shirt and pants, dropping them to the floor and kicking them under the seat in front of him.

"Hey." Bruce's hand on his shoulder stopped him as he was about to strap in wearing nothing but the thermal bottoms Alfred had laid out with his other clothes that morning. "Here." Seeing what he was doing, the man had removed his own flannel, perfectly willing to ride back in his undershirt in order to give the boy clean clothes.

"I'm fine," he insisted, refusing.

"You're cold. I can see the goose bumps on your arms. Take it."

"I'm _fine,_ Bruce. Just leave me alone, okay?" Buckling in, he crossed his arms, pulled his knees up to his chest, and stared out the window.

The billionaire slid over and wrapped him back in an embrace. The boy remained rigid for several seconds, mounting a stand-off, before he gave up and sank against him. "Dick, I know you wish you had done something. But you have to understand how dangerous it would have been to try."

"I know. That's why I _didn't_."

"This is one of the hardest things about what we do," he breathed against his hair. "Sometimes bad things happen when you're out of costume, and you can't stop them as a result. And it's a terrible feeling, Dick, I know it is, but it can't be helped. You know it's a very fine line we walk. Every person who suspects what our real identities might be is another step closer to the end of it all."

Sniffling, he broached a question. "Tell me something. If Erwin had managed to take me away from you before you had evidence of what he was doing – if you had _known_, but couldn't have proven anything – would Batman have still come?"

"…That's not a fair question. And you already know the answer."

"…He wouldn't have, would he? Because it would have been too _risky_." His voice was contemptuous, but the hurt beneath it was clear.

"Don't _ever_ say that," came a growl. He pulled away and forced the teen to look at him. "You are the exception to that rule. I will _always_ come for you, regardless of the cost."

"…I know," the teen whispered, tears dampening his face. He buried his head in his arms, ashamed. "I…I didn't mean that."

"It's okay," he promised, coming back down. Draping the warm flannel over the still-shaking boy, he rubbed his back in slow, soft circles. "It's okay. I know. I know it's hard."

"This isn't right, Bruce. We're here, we should _do_ something. We _have_ to do something. Things like this are the reason we do what we do, aren't they?"

"You know why we can't. This isn't open for discussion."

"_Aren't they?!"_ he repeated angrily.

The driver's door swung open, allowing Alfred to enter. "Sirs," he said quietly. "I assume we are returning to the beach house?"

"That's fine," Bruce nodded. "…Dick?" he asked, feeling the figure under his hand suddenly stop shaking.

"…What's the point, if we're not even going to try to help?"

"Damn it, Dick," the billionaire sighed, a little exasperated. "What do you expect us to be able to do in two days? We have no equipment, no leads, no knowledge of the local area or customs, and no time. We can't do anything."

_Then why the hell did you have me pack masks behind Alfred's back? _he railed mentally. "You realize Gina's an orphan now, right?" he said instead.

That stopped him. True, he hadn't heard any mention of the girl's mother, but that hadn't been reason enough for him to just assume that Bryant was the only parent in her life. "No. I didn't know that. But I am sorry to hear it."

"That's it? You're _sorry?_" was fired back. Dick's voice dropped into a low, steady tone beyond his years as he asked a barbed question. "So what, Bruce, are you telling me that you don't think she deserves to know who made her one?"

"That's what the police are for, Richard," he ground out. _I can't believe he said that._

"Yeah," the teen laughed shortly. "They seemed really interested, too, didn't they? I'm sure they'll get right on the case. Maybe you _should_ throw a little money their way, it might help speed things up. At least then there'd be a chance that they would take enough initiative to try and find Gina before she's dead, too."

Having seen the attitude of the officer they'd spoken with firsthand, he had no argument for that logic. His mouth opened, then closed again when he realized he had nothing to say. Instead, Alfred spoke up as they passed the last buildings of the town. "It has been a very long day all around, sirs. You might find that you are both better able to communicate your respective feelings after a little rest." His visage in the rearview mirror made it clear to both of them that what he had said was more order than suggestion. Sufficiently cowed, each retreated into his own corner of the seat and glared out the window.

_That was cruel, Dick,_ Bruce lamented. _I know why you said it, but it was still cruel. _The worst part of it was that he suspected the teen's words might actually work to change his mind about where to go from here.

_I'm not sorry,_ Dick tried to convince himself as the shocked look that had flashed across his mentor's face at his words replayed over and over again in his head. _It was really mean, but I'm not sorry, especially not if that's what it takes to get you to realize that we'll be betraying ourselves if we don't try to help solve this. _He gulped heavily, a pair of tears slipping down to drip off of his chin. Shivering again, he pulled the thick shirt closer around himself and took a deep breath, catching a little of his guardian's scent on the fabric. _Okay,_ he gave up. _I __am__ sorry. But we have to do something, and it just…it just seemed like saying that would get you to admit it._ He turned his head to apologize and found Bruce's attention fixed outside of the car. When the man didn't acknowledge him – _I know you know I'm looking at you, Bruce, you always know when I have something I really want to say – _he went back to his own night-black windowpane, fresh liquid filling his eyes. _I'm sorry…_


	12. Chapter 12

Dick slunk upstairs when they reached the cottage, his gaze fastened to his toes the entire way. Alfred offered to bring him up something hot to drink, but he just shook his head and refused quietly. Bruce went straight to one of the couches in the living room and lay with his head on the armrest, staring at the ceiling. The butler busied himself preparing a light, simple supper, determined to at least feed his charges before they continued their latest battle of wills.

"Alfred." He looked up from setting the table as Bruce said his name quietly.

"Yes, Master Wayne?"

"I feel like I'm about to make a horrible mistake."

The Englishman frowned mightily down at the forks in his hand. "What do you mean, sir?"

"…He's right, isn't he? About us. About what we do."

_Well. That came about much more quickly than I'd anticipated it would. _Setting the silverware down with a tiny clatter, he moved into the living room and perched on the other sofa, leaning forward with his hands between his knees. "Are you asking for my complete, honest opinion on this matter, sir?"

"Isn't that what I always ask for, Alfred?"

"Yes. But that's not always what you really want." He sighed and leaned back against the cushions, focusing his gaze on the empty fireplace. "…You are both right. And you are both wrong. That is how I see this matter."

"That's helpful," he said derisively. "'Things like this are the reason we do what we do.' Can you believe he said that?" he wondered after a short pause.

"It sounds like one of Batman's utterances."

"It probably was at some point, and he just appropriated it."

"Quite likely. It has been my experience that Robin takes virtually all of Batman's words to heart, much in the same way that Master Dick takes yours."

"That's the problem. He's getting _too_ good. He's using my own philosophies against me to get what he wants."

"To get what he _needs_ is more truthful, I believe. He's spent the last six years of his life soaked in the ethos of lending aid whenever and wherever possible, both in and out of costume. You take him to charity soirees to donate millions to worthy causes, and then you take him out on the streets to apprehend criminals for the greater good. As if that were not enough, he was a sensitive, generous child to begin with, and now you have provided him with tools that have increased his ability to give many times over. As you yourself are fond of quoting, sir, 'with great power comes great responsibility.' You've given him the power to make positive changes in the world; surely you are not truly surprised that he now also feels a responsibility to do so?"

"…No. I'm not. Hell, I'm proud of him for it."

"Then where does your confusion stem from?"

"He wants us to put on masks, find Gina, and solve Graves' murder. And I _love_ that he wants to do that. There's a part of me that wants to do the same thing, because like he said, what's the point of being Batman and Robin if we don't step up in situations like this one?"

"But, sir?" Alfred asked when there was a pause, knowing the confliction was coming.

"But we _can't_. It's too risky. We sure as hell can't actually work as Batman and Robin here; it would be much too easy to connect the dots between two high-profile visitors from Gotham who were more or less present at a murder and Gotham's signature vigilantes suddenly turning up to investigate the same crime. Even if we came up with different alter egos specifically for this investigation, we have no equipment here, not even a secured computer that we could research from without spreading a traceable IP address everywhere we went. We have no clothing that would offer even the slightest protection were we to run into trouble. And we have a grand total of two days in which to accomplish these tasks in a town that we're completely unfamiliar with. It's not feasible, and trying to pull it off is more likely to get our identities exposed than it is to cast any sort of light on Graves' death."

"You are correct. Attempting to do anything would be remarkably dangerous."

"But?" Bruce prodded, well aware that there was more.

"But not doing anything will leave you both feeling as if you've betrayed yourselves and the ideals you fight for. It would also leave a child in the hands of who knows what kind of criminals, and would greatly lessen the odds of her ever knowing the identity of the person or persons who took her father from her."

Shaking his head, the billionaire grimaced. "My head is telling me to take the safe route, Alfred. But my heart is telling me to take the chance."

The butler chuckled quietly. "You once said something very similar to me, Master Wayne, in the midst of asking my advice. Do you recall?"

"…Yes," he whispered. It had been the night that Dick had been made parentless. Bruce had stormed home, torn, desperately wanting to take the boy in but certain that it couldn't possibly end well for any of the parties involved. Alfred had finally persuaded him, after several days, to do what felt right rather than what felt safe. Many of the issues that his brain had portended that night had ended up having to be faced down, and he knew that there would be others still, but for all that he had never once regretted going with his gut.

"And are you pleased with the way that decision has worked out?"

"Of course I am." _I wouldn't give him up for the world. I've always been grateful that you convinced me to ignore logic that night. It was the best thing I've ever done._

"Then my advice remains the same as it was six years ago, sir. As clichéd as it may be, the most difficult choices are often best made with one's heart at the forefront."

"…What if it's the wrong choice, Alfred?"

"You are attempting to help a child who through no fault of her own has been made an orphan and taken hostage. How could that possibly be the wrong choice?" He stood up and shook out the razor-sharp pleats of his pants. "Dinner is nearly ready. Once you have made peace with your decision, would you be so kind as to rouse Master Dick and bring him down to eat? I'm sure he's famished."

"…I'll do that." _Although the way I'm waffling we won't be eating until Christmas._

He stewed on the couch until Alfred cleared his throat and looked towards the ceiling suggestively. Heaving a sigh, the billionaire rose and made his way upstairs, taking the extra step of knocking lightly on the bedroom door before going in. "…Dick?" he ventured quietly into the dark.

There was no answer, so he slipped across the room to the boy's bed, imagining him to be asleep after the drama of the day. A few feet away, he realized his mistake. "God _damn_ it!" he shouted, closing his eyes as he heard the butler ascending rapidly to join him.

"…He's gone, hasn't he?" the Englishman asked before he even entered the room.

"Yes. _Damn_ it, he's going to get himself caught!"

"Perhaps he merely took an evening stroll," Alfred said hopelessly, not believing it. "Surely he wouldn't go out on an investigation without at least a mask."

"He wouldn't have to," Bruce muttered, cursing himself as he remembered giving permission for the teen to secret two masks and spirit gum in his bag. _No,_ he self-berated, _I didn't just give him permission, I fucking __told__ him to do it. _

"What on earth do you mean, he wouldn't have to?"

"Alfred, I-" Turning towards him, he caught sight of his own bed and froze.

The second mask and a tiny glass bottle lay on his pillow, holding down a note.

"…Master Wayne? Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes. Alfred, this is my fault."

"Please explain, sir," the butler requested, his voice chilly. "I appear to be a little behind."

"I told him to pack them. I know we talked about it," he said, overriding the butler's displeasured harrumph, "but he brought it up, and it didn't seem like it would hurt anything to be prepared. I thought that if anything _did_ happen, he and I would be going out together."

"Sneaking out is not something he has ever given me reason to think he would do. I confess I'm a little surprised at his brazenness."

"…I should have seen it coming. He told me that he's been keeping a mask and a set of non-descript clothes hidden in his bedroom specifically in case he ever needed to go out in costume without you or I knowing, and I let it slide. I can't believe I didn't think about that when he came up here by himself earlier. _Fuck,_" he swore again, sitting heavily on his bed.

"…What does the note say?"

Bruce unfolded it and read aloud:

_ I'm sorry._

_ I know it's not enough, and that when this is all over you'll probably never let me near a costume or in the cave again. I hate that thought, you have no idea how much I __hate__ that what I'm about to do is going to lose me the most important thing in my life, but I have to do it anyway. If I don't help her, I won't feel worthy of wearing a mask anymore, and right now that seems like a worse fate than having you take it from me. _

_ I understand why you don't want me to do this, Bruce. Please believe that I really do understand. And normally I would agree with you that it's too risky. But it's different this time, not just because it's Gina and I've got a thing for her, but because it's both of us all over again. Assuming she manages to survive and either get rescued or escape, there are two ways this can go; either she never knows who made her an orphan – your ending – or someone is kind and caring enough to find out and give her some sort of closure – my ending. Frankly, I don't think the police will even try to find out, and I don't want the not knowing to taint the rest of her life. I've seen how it haunts you, and I can't just stand by and let that same pain embed itself in someone else I care about. Not when there's even the slightest chance that I could help._

_ So, again, I'm sorry. I promise that one way or the other I'll be back at the cottage before it's time to leave on Tuesday, assuming of course that you don't go batshit insane when you realize I've snuck out and somehow find me before then. Which, to be honest, I'm kind of expecting that you will, but I'll take whatever time I get and use it as best I can._

_ As for the other mask…well, I guess I'm hoping that you'll decide to be crazy with me._

_ Love (and to Alfred, too),_

_ Dick_

_ P.S. – I'm __really__ sorry about what I said in the car. I only said it because I thought it might be enough to get you to see things my way, but that was no excuse. I wanted to apologize when we were driving, but you didn't seem to want to look at me, and I was too chicken to push the issue. In any case, I was completely out of line, and I hope that you can forgive me. –D_

Bruce stared at the paper for a long time after he finished, his hands shaking infinitesimally, teeth pressed into his lower lip. "Alfred," he said quietly.

"Yes, Master Wayne?"

"I'm afraid I have to ask you to make a run home tonight."

"Standard assemblage, sir?"

"Not our usual costumes, obviously, but plenty of gear. I want tracking devices, both of the untraceable laptops, proximity alarms…you know the rest. Do we have any armor that isn't obviously to one or the other of our outfits?"

"I can procure some in short order. I'm owed a favor in that quarter of town."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask. "Do it." _I'm not letting him do this alone._

"And you, sir? Staying here?"

"No. He won't come back here until he has to." Snatching up the mask and the spirit gum, he stood. "I'm taking a walk."


	13. Chapter 13

_This must be the place,_ Dick thought as he surveyed the house from the trees. _It's the only other path that leads up from the beach, and it looks like no one's here. I would think there would be police around, but then again they didn't seem all that concerned. They certainly weren't doing half of what Gotham PD would in a murder case._ Using extreme caution just in case he'd misread the situation, he slipped through the dark and up to the ramshackle building.

He hadn't snuck out immediately after going upstairs; it had taken him nearly a quarter of an hour to come to terms with what he was going to do. As he'd told Bruce in his note – _I wonder if he's found it yet? He's going to be pissed – _he fully expected that this would be the last time he would wear a mask until he was a legal adult and couldn't technically be stopped from doing so any more. Knowing as much only made him all the more determined to go out successfully.

He'd come to Gina's house first for two reasons: first, it the most likely place besides the missing _Coeur de Lise_ to offer up clues about why someone would target her and Bryant, and second, it was the only place he could easily reach without some form of transportation. Even running, it had taken him twenty minutes to get here. Approaching the back door of the house in a crouch and on his toes, he tested the knob.

It yielded, having been left unsecured, and he proceeded more carefully than ever. While it made sense that locking the door would be less of a concern here than it was in the city, their location was no reason to assume that someone else hadn't broken in ahead of him. He was working with an exceedingly slim arsenal, and the idea that he might run into someone connected to Gina's kidnapping – _the guy who shot Bryant in the face, for one,_ he shivered - was not a comforting thought. The only things he had dared to try and carry in his bag besides the masks were his lock picks, two birdarangs, and a single capsule of blinding smoke. With no utility belt, all of those items had had to be shoved into the pockets of his loose zip-up hoodie, as the dark skinny jeans he'd chosen for the simple reason that they moved on him like his Robin uniform were too tight to allow the items to be easily retrieved in an emergency. As it was it would be tough to keep his hands from flying to his waist instinctively for them.

He checked every room to ensure that he was, in fact, alone in the house before he began to search for clues. Downstairs yielded nothing useful. Bryant's bedroom seemed like the most likely spot to find clues upstairs, so he began his investigation of the more private area of the house there. Shutting the blinds and curtains before he turned on the bedside lamp, he zeroed in on a corner desk that was clearly dedicated to the business of his boat. His gloved fingers shuffled through the carefully sorted paperwork and sifted through the drawers, but he didn't see anything that seemed out of place. Pursing his lips, he turned his eyes to the laden bookshelves that flanked the workstation.

_Shoal Fish of the North Atlantic. Small Boat Engine Mechanic's Handbook. Survival Tales from the Midst of the Deep._ He read each title, seeing nothing but what he assumed was standard fare for a fishing boat captain but not willing to walk away until he was sure there was nothing here he could use. _I'm going to feel like a total idiot if I don't find a single clue,_ he griped as he neared the bottom shelf. _Northeast Charter Permitting Handbook. Know Your Nautical Knots. Custody Law in Brief. King Cod…_ His eyes snapped back. "'Custody Law in Brief?'" he breathed, pulling it out. _It's a library book, too,_ he noted the sticker on the spine. Flipping through it, he found a single piece of paper marking a section entitled 'Relinquishment of Parental Rights and Responsibilities.'

_From the desk of Lise Burnham-Dunaway_

"Lise," he whispered, realizing who the stationery must belong to. "That explains the name of the boat. He never really stopped loving her, even after what she did to him. Wow."

_ Dear Bryant,_

_ How are you? I know you probably weren't expecting to ever hear from me again – it's been such a long time, after all – but I hope you'll read this letter even after you see who it's from. I know I hurt you back then, and I'm sorry for that, but I had to. I loved you, but I couldn't live the life you wanted. I'm not cut out to be a fisherman's wife._

_ Apologies aside, I'm writing about Gina. Yes, I know her name. What I did fourteen years ago was foolish. I was young and full of dreams about the life I was going to have with someone else, and as such I made a silly mistake. Fortunately for me, so did my (now former) attorney. My new counsel has informed me that the error renders the relinquishment we signed null and void in the eyes of the law. _

_ I want to do something for my daughter, Bryant. She deserves to know that her mother is not the heartless, money-hungry wench she no doubt believes me to be. My husband wants to discuss a generous offer with you that, when you take it, will provide her with benefits far exceeding those you can offer her in your current position. I know how important it was to your family that you were able to go to school, and I'm sure that you have the same hopes for Gina. From what I hear, she'd quite quick. Paying tuition when the time comes is but one of the many things that accepting my husband's proposal will allow you to do for her._

_ Anyway, Bryant, think about it. I feel I should warn you that my husband can be an impatient man – he's not like you in the least – and that this offer he's making won't last forever. Please take it. I only want the best for you and Gina._

_ With Fondest Memories,_

_ Lise Burnham-Dunaway_

"What's the _deal_, though?" Dick hissed in annoyance, shaking the letter. Glancing at the date, he noted that it had been written just over a month before. He wished that he had been able to find room for his hand camera; without it, he was just going to have to hope that he could remember all of the most pertinent details of the letter. Reading back through it one more time, he committed as much of it to memory as he could, then placed it back in the book and in its spot on the shelf.

That was the only really interesting thing in Bryant's room. Leaving everything exactly the way he'd found it, he slipped into the next chamber. It was clearly inhabited by Matt; he could think of no other reason why one wall would be stacked to the ceiling with moving boxes other than that the down-on-his-luck man was storing all of his worldly possessions here. A few clothes hung in the closet; half-packed suitcases were open on the floor. There was nothing on the nightstand save a two-month-old local newspaper whose headline informed the reader that new offshore oil and gas exploration leases were preparing to threaten the community's existence.

_Objectivity: denied, _Dick thought sarcastically as he glanced over the article. It read more like a political pamphlet than a news piece, spouting theory and conjecture without really citing any sources. It was complete and utter garbage, in the teen's opinion, ranking right up there with the tabloids that liked to get shots of Bruce (and, less frequently, of him) on the way into the city's fancier parties and openings for reliability. _Still, it must have meant something to Matt,_ he mused. _Why else would he keep an old newspaper around, especially since there's practically nothing else in here that seems to be in use?_ Just to be sure, he flipped through the rest of the paper's few pages, but he found nothing marked or looking overly well-perused. He hadn't even started the crossword. _Huh. Okay. So Gina's mother's husband wanted to make some deal with Bryant and Matt's interested in the future of local offshore drilling. That…that's not really all that helpful. Shit._

He made his way to the last bedroom. Stepping into Gina's space, he paused, looking around. "Wow," he breathed. He'd never been in a girl's room before, but it was nothing like he'd expected. He searched her room as he had the others, finding more and more to like about the other teen as he went. There were a couple of the requisite band pin-ups on the walls, but far more dominating were the two large posters showing anatomical cross-sections of whales and fish. Three shark jaws sat inside one another on the cluttered desk under the window. A sticker on the vanity mirror read 'I swim with Giant Squid.' _I knew she liked the ocean, but holy cow…_ He mused on that for a second, certain he could improve it. _Holy sea cow. Yeah, that's better. Manatees. She'll appreciate that, I think. Assuming I ever see her alive again._ Reminded that the success rate he was experiencing in solving her abduction made that an increasingly unlikely event, he sat down on her bed and tried to think.

_Maybe it was just a crime of opportunity,_ a doubting voice said in the back of his head. _I mean, it seems like it wouldn't be a very intelligent thing to do, but maybe there are boat chop shops along the coast like there are for cars in Gotham. I don't know. Maybe…maybe Bruce was right. Maybe I'm way out of my depth here. Tsk, depth, haha, yeah that's really freaking funny, Grayson. I guess this is what happens when I try to do things on my own. It's bad enough that I snuck out and totally disobeyed Bruce, but I'm not even finding anything useful. You'd think that after six years of training I'd be better at this. If he walked in here right now, what would I say? I have nothing except two cryptic sheets of paper that probably don't even __mean__ anything, and all I have left to do is go into town and…and what? Fall down from exhaustion because I spent all night walking there? What am I going to do, start sticking my head into stores and asking people if they have any idea who would want Bryant dead? I'm sure they'd love me down at the bank, walking in wearing a mask and holding them up for information._

"I'm sorry, Gina," he whispered to the empty room. "I'm sorry I botched this so badly. I should be able to figure this out, but I don't know where to go from here." Bruce's words from earlier flashed through his head. _What do you expect us to be able to do in two days? We have no equipment, no leads, no knowledge of the local area or customs, and no time. We can't do anything. _"He was right," the boy muttered. "I'm a fucking idiot." All of the stress and exhaustion of the past eighteen hours hit him suddenly, and he buried his face in his hands, biting his palm – _don't bite your lip, Leslie said to stop doing that, don't screw anything else up right now – _to keep from sobbing. His fingers felt the mask, and in a sudden fit of self-loathing he ripped it from his face. _Bryant's dead, Gina's gone, Bruce probably wishes he'd never laid eyes on me, and I'm sitting here with __nothing__ in the way of solid leads._ _I don't deserve to wear this. _His eyes rolled as the spirit gum tried to hold, only giving way in exchange for lighting a fire in his facial nerves. He wanted to cry out at the sudden pain, but just bit down harder instead, remembering that he was someplace that he very much shouldn't be and that now – _oh, that was so stupid, I can't believe I did that, oh crap oh crap oh crap – _he didn't even have a way to hide his features and try to preserve his identity if he was caught. Eyes wide as the potential consequences of what he'd just done sank in, he desperately tried to press the mask back to his face, whimpering slightly when it clung weakly, then fell. He groped at his pockets for a second before he realized that he'd left the little cologne bottle behind on Bruce's pillow in the ridiculous hope that the man would join him. _I have to get out of here. What if someone comes?_

Holding the disguise against his burning skin, he stood and began to make his way to the door. Halfway across the room he glanced into the vanity mirror, then stopped cold. Knowing he'd been detected, the figure that had been watching him from the dark hallway for who knew how long pushed the door open and closed the distance between them with three long strides.

Dick's stomach plummeted. "Oh, no. Not you."


	14. Chapter 14

Bruce didn't have to think long to figure out where his son would have gone. _The girl was on the beach yesterday evening, and she had to come from somewhere. The odds of her just coincidentally having shown up there are slim at best, especially since she would have had to get someone to drive her from town. No, I'm guessing that they live somewhere further down, and that he knows as much. With no motorized transportation, that should be his first stop, _he decided as he pressed the second mask against a coating of spirit gum and regarded himself in the bathroom mirror. "Mmph," he grimaced; he'd never liked the way he looked in disguises like this. _Dick has the right facial shape for them. That pointy little chin. I, on the other hand, definitely do not._

Stepping out into the living room, he was pleased to see that Alfred had drawn all of the blinds. "Master Wayne," the butler acknowledged after a very brief moment of shock. _I can't recall the last time I saw him prepared to go out for night work without a cowl,_ he mused. "…Does your outfit feel serviceable for your tasks during my absence?"

"It'll do," he said shortly. For all that his 'costume' consisted of plain dark slacks and a sweater, he didn't really feel like Bruce Wayne, and despite the fact that his face was masked he didn't really feel like Batman, either. _The eye holes are all wrong in this thing. How does Robin put up with it?_

"I'll return as quickly as I can with more appropriate garments, sir. I wish you luck in locating Master Dick," he added, a flash of concern darting across his face. "I expect to see you both here when I return." He paused. "I've placed your dinners in the refrigerator. Do try to get him to eat something."

"Yeah. Thanks, Alfred." He stood, unmoving, in the living room until the sound of the car's engine faded away into the night, then made his way to the back door and slipped out.

Walking along the beach in the direction he remembered Gina approaching them from just over twenty four hours earlier, he tried to clear his mind. It was an almost moonless night, but he stuck close to the trees in order to reduce the odds of silhouetting himself for any boats that might be looking towards shore. As he went along, he reviewed what little he knew about the case.

_Graves, dead, shot on the dock by his boat. Wish I could have gotten a look at that crime scene. His brother unconscious beside him, but Dick said he was like that before Graves was killed. The girl, missing. Maybe,_ he amended. _We don't know for sure that she was on the boat, but it seems likely given the way the timing was. Dick said she's an orphan now, so I'm forced to assume her mother is deceased. The boat, taken by four unknowns in ski masks to who knows where. The police…_ He scowled. _Something is very wrong there. I've never seen an investigation begun so shoddily. They can't be that incompetent all the time, surely. Hell, the officer we spoke with said she and Graves were high school sweethearts; you would think she'd be all over figuring out who killed him. Instead, she let us leave after asking a few perfunctory questions. It wouldn't surprise me if they took a few pictures and then hosed down the dock so the tourists wouldn't get squeamish on their way to their charters tomorrow morning._ He shook his head. _That warrants further research, for sure._

He'd nearly reached the rearing cliffs at the east end of the beach before he found a well-used trail leading into the trees. Since it was the only such path he'd come across and the sand was about to peter out into water and rock, he took it. Stopping well back in the brush, he observed the house silently for several long minutes. A small part of him had hoped that the police would prove him wrong by being here, searching for clues, but the much more jaded bulk of his nature wasn't surprised in the least that there was no activity.

He found the back door unlocked, and frowned. _That__ was sloppy. What's wrong with you tonight? First you sneak out, then you don't secure a door behind you. _Entering the building, he quickly discerned that his quarry was not downstairs, and made his way upward. He paused at the top of the staircase, noting the sliver of faint light that fell onto the hallway carpet from one of the bedrooms. _Ah ha._ Sneaking up to it, he listened.

"I'm sorry, Gina," he heard him say miserably. "I'm sorry I botched this so badly. I should be able to figure this out, but I don't know where to go from here." A pause."He was right. I'm a fucking idiot."

_No you aren't,_ his brain denied immediately, his brow furrowing. _…I didn't say that, did I? No, I'm sure I didn't. _A painfully familiar tearing sound reached his ears. _Oh, I hope you didn't just do what I think you did. Spirit gum __hurts__ when you tear it off like that._ Maneuvering so that he could peek into the room through the narrow gap between door and jamb, he discovered that he could see him reflected in the vanity mirror, biting into his palm and holding his mask in his hand as several spots on his forehead and cheeks reddened irately. The man in the hall winced in commiseration, his face easing into a sad smile as he saw the teen realize what he'd just done and desperately attempt to plaster the disguise back in place. His despair was palpable when it merely flopped back into his hand.

Bruce hadn't been expecting him to move towards the door as quickly as he did, and as he drew back he heard the almost soundless footfalls on the other side halt. _Damn it. He must have glanced up at just the right moment._ Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and drew up to his son, staring down at him.

"Oh, no. Not you," he said hopelessly. _Already? I've been gone, what, a couple hours?_

"…Ouch," Bruce managed after a stunned second.

Dick just shook his head and turned his face away. _I can't believe he found me this fast. Well, what the hell. It's not like I was having any success. _"Here," he said, his voice cracking as he held out his mask in a trembling fist. "Just take it. I know you're going to anyway, so just…just take it."

He did so wordlessly, watching tears fall down the boy's face as he placed the hand holding the disguise in his pocket and, a moment later, pulled it back out. He cleared his throat quietly and, having gotten his attention, opened his fingers to reveal that the mask had been joined by a tiny glass bottle. "Looks like you need a touch up on your costume."

"I…I don't understand." His lip tremored.

"Put it back on. We're not done here."

"Wait, you…" hope dawned in his eyes, "…you're not _actually _here to help me with this, are you? I thought you were going to drag me out of here and leave me in nerve locks in my room for the rest of the summer!"

He frowned. "I would never use nerve locks as a form of punishment. At least, not on you."

"So what changed your mind, then?"

"…It's a long story. Suffice it to say that I had a discussion with Alfred."

"Ah. That'll do it every time." An indecisive look crossed his face.

"What?"

"Well…Part of me is super excited that you're actually going to help me. I mean, I know I put it in the letter I left, but I never really believed that you'd change your mind. Another part of me, though, is still really mad at myself for _needing_ your help."

"I have absolutely no doubt that you are determined and skilled enough to do this all by yourself," Bruce said frankly. "But you've lost your mind if you think I'm going to _let_ you. You're very good, but you're also my son, and that means that if you _ever_ sneak out of the house – any house – again in order to chase after psychos who shoot people in the face in public places, you _will_ be grounded for the rest of your natural life. Understood?"

"Gotcha," the teen grinned tentatively. "No more sneaking out. Unless…" He bore up under the dangerous look sent his way. "…Pod people?"

Bruce snorted. "Pod people is an acceptable excuse. But we'd better _really_ be pod people."

"Okay, okay, I get it."

"Good. Now c'mere." The boy all but knocked him over as he threw himself into his embrace.

"Thanks for forgiving me," he whispered against his guardian's throat.

"Thanks for making me better than I am," he squeezed him.

"Oh, yeah, that's it, one up my gratitude."

Bruce turned him around into a playful headlock. "You won on the fish catching, death defying, _and_ moral fortitude fronts today. Let me have expressions of gratitude, and we'll get back to work."

"Deal."

"You left the back door unlocked after you picked it, by the way," he mentioned as he released him.

"I didn't pick it."

"What?"

"It was like that already. I left it unlocked because that's how I found it."

"…Oh." He watched, arms crossed, as the teen applied a fresh layer of spirit gum and set his mask into place again. "So," he ventured, taking the bottle back. "What did you find?"

"Nothing useful," came a sighed reply. "You'll probably find tons more than I did."

"Show me."

"Okay, but it's probably nothing." Leading the man back through the upstairs, he pointed out the local rag sheet in Matt's bedroom and the letter in Bryant's.

"So Gina's mother is alive?" Bruce frowned, his earlier assumption overturned as he read the note.

"Yeah. She signed away her parental rights when Gina was just a few days old. She…she didn't want her."

"Mm." He read it again, silently. "You don't have a camera with you, do you?"

"There wasn't any room in my bag for it after I packed everything else. I more or less memorized it, though."

"…Everything else?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he replaced the book on the shelf.

Blushing, Dick pulled the birdarangs, lock pick set, and smoke capsule out of his pockets and handed them over sheepishly. "That's all I figured I could get away with." When there was no response, he glanced up and was shocked to find Bruce holding in laughter. "What's so funny?"

"…You never cease to amaze me, you know that?"

"…Thanks," he smiled brilliantly as the items were given back to him.

"I don't see anything else in here. Let's try downstairs." The teen followed him, watching as his mentor quickly checked the places he'd already explored. When they were standing beside the back door again, Bruce shook his head. "Well, there's not much here, is there? Might as well head back."

They snuck out of the house and into the woods, rising from their crouches and walking side by side once they'd reached the beach and put a little distance between themselves and the path to Gina's house. "…Are…I mean, do you think there's any chance of us pulling this off?" Dick asked quietly. "Honestly, do you?"

The billionaire sighed. "It's not going to be easy unless something breaks for us soon. We're on a very tight timeline, both because of Gina and because of our schedules." Seeing the boy's shoulders drop at that, he regretted being so candid. "But," he added, "between the two of us, I think we've got as good a chance as anyone could have of getting to the bottom of it."

"…I really hope you're right."

_Me, too, kiddo. Me, too._


	15. Chapter 15

"You know exactly who did it, don't you?" the teen asked unexpectedly as they passed the spot where they had watched the sun set on Friday evening.

He started at the assumption and turned to stare at him. "Dick, I have no more of an idea who's responsible for Bryant's death and Gina's abduction than you do."

"…Really?" he asked skeptically. "So…I'm not missing anything? Cause I have to admit, I was kind of feeling like a complete failure right before you came in."

"I know. I heard what you called yourself."

"…Oh. Yeah. That."

"In fact, I'm adding that to the list of things that will get you completely and utterly grounded. No calling yourself an idiot. Don't even _think_ that about yourself. Because you're not. The two things that you specifically pointed out to me – the letter and the newspaper – are the only potential clues that I saw in the house. You didn't miss _anything_. You…you did very well."

"You mean except the part where I practically had a crying fit in her bed. Cause you know, that was a great way to not blow my cover if someone other than you had walked in. Really helpful to the investigation, too."

"It wasn't the most well-advised thing you've ever done, but you're under an unusually high amount of stress tonight. I'm not trying to give you an excuse, but there were mitigating circumstances for your actions. You were exhausted when we got off of the boat, and then a man whose daughter you've grown close to and who had himself treated you in a very complimentary manner was killed right in front of you, for no readily apparent reason. As if that weren't enough, you felt guilty for not doing something to stop it from happening. On the heels of _that_, your personal beliefs about our responsibilities as vigilantes brought you and I into conflict, forcing you to feel like you had to run from me in order to do what you thought was right. The clues at the house not giving you as much information as you had hoped only made things worse. You also haven't really eaten in almost twelve hours, so I'm sure that's not helping." He broke off, wondering vaguely when he'd started channeling Alfred's psychiatric prowess. "…Did I miss anything?"

"No, I think you catalogued this evening's neuroses pretty thoroughly," he said, his voice lighter. His stomach growled audibly. "I get it, I get it, he's right! Gah, my own body is turning against me. Of course, I should have been expecting such a mutiny after my epic showdown with my appendix."

"'Epic showdown?'" He raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, people with healthy vestigial organs don't get to have an opinion on the appendicitis rating system. It _was_ an epic showdown. An old western duel at high noon. Two samurai on a beach at sunset. Just me and some useless tissue." He wrinkled his nose at that. "See, I told you, 'epic showdown' sounds _way_ better."

Bruce just smirked. "Since your stomach is launching a coup d'etat, you should know that we were left spaghetti in the fridge."

"Oh, sweet! Spaghetti is the best." He paused. "Wait. _Left_ it? Where did Alfred go?"

"I asked him to bring us some gear from the cave."

"Awesome!" _With gear, we might __actually__ have a chance to solve this._ "But…we can't be…you know…_ourselves_…here. That's way too obvious."

"I'm glad you realize that. He's bringing some less easily recognizable things for us to work with."

"Please tell me he's bringing a computer."

"Something you're hoping to hack?" the man asked, already knowing the answer.

"I can think of a thing or two. You know…this is a lot better."

"Hmm?"

"Working together. I was totally at a dead end when you showed up."

"You'd have figured it out. It just would have been more difficult without the right tools." He glanced over, meeting his son's eyes. "There's a lesson there. Work smart, not hard."

"What you really mean is, work with the guy who has the money to pay for the cool toys."

"I also have a driver's license."

"Point taken. It would have been a long walk to town. God, I can't wait to get my license so I can go places by _myself_."

"What, you mean you don't _want_ to be my partner until you're eighty?" the billionaire ribbed gently, pretending to be offended.

"…I didn't think the Joker could get scarier until I imagined him just now, hunched over with arthritis, neck wattles shaking in the shockwaves of his explosions. He's going to be even _creepier_ when he's ancient, do you realize that?"

"That's…no. Just…no. I do not want to envision that, thank you."

"Ooh, no one ever manages to bring out your icky face!" the teen cheered. "I wasn't even trying, I was just legitimately grossed out and wanted to share. I wish Alfred were here to see this, it always gives him a good chuckle."

Bruce wasn't sure whether or not he should be annoyed that his butler found his so-called 'icky face' amusing, but he chose to shrug it off. He had patched things with the boy bouncing happily at his side, and they were embarking together on a challenging – _and probably suicidal_, he thought – case. At that exact moment in time, those two facts were all it took to bring a tiny smile to his face.

Back at the cottage, they changed rapidly and began to analyze what they knew thus far over heaping plates of pasta. Between bites that would have made Alfred wince, Dick filled Bruce in on everything he could remember Gina telling him about the Graves family. Once he had caught him up to speed, he frowned.

"What?" the billionaire asked.

"…We still have practically _nothing_ to go on."

"Well, hopefully the computers will give us a little more info. How long do you think it would take you to hack the local police department files? I'd like to know if much they're doing anything about the case." He was perfectly capable of breaking into the system himself, but it didn't hurt his feelings any to admit that his son was far faster at it than he was. Hell, he'd been told as much to his face by more than one person, so there was no point in not taking advantage of the teen's superior speed.

"Yeah, especially if they have an idea of where Gina is. Honestly, it'll probably be a cakewalk. Not to boast or anything, but I doubt they've got defenses on the level that Gotham PD does, and those were pretty easy to work around." He took a bite and chewed pensively. "…Do you feel like we're in a mafia movie?"

"…No."

"I guess it's just the way we're discussing taking people down over plates of spaghetti." He shrugged. "Maybe our temporary alter egos could be, like, 'the Don' and something else. Alfred could even have a code name; we could call him 'Consigliere.' I dunno, though, that's kind of long to try and say through a mouthful of broken teeth…not that that will happen," he said quickly, seeing Bruce's expression.

"Think of something else," the man directed him.

"I'll work on it." They chewed in silence until the boy suddenly gasped and put his fork down.

"What? What is it?" Bruce asked urgently as he half-rose from his chair, thinking his partner was choking.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" he calmed him. "I was thinking about the tomatoes in the sauce, and how you and Alfred left me alone with Gina to go and get them yesterday. Then I thought about Margie, you know, the fishmonger? She's Gina's godmother, I'll bet she'll tell us anything we might need to know about this town, and about stuff that Bryant might have been into, too."

The billionaire blinked at him.

"What, is it no good? I mean, I know it'll be tough to interview her without totally giving ourselves away, but I thought maybe-"

"No. No, stop, Dick. It's good. There are definitely some logistical issues to work out with it, though. Any ideas on how to approach her about it?"

"Yup," he nodded quickly. "She told me to come back down today and see her about rockfish. I'll bet we can lead in from there."

"We can't go to the market in masks."

"She doesn't have to realize that she's doing anything but chattering to a couple of tourists. You heard the way she rambled on and on the other day; talking is her default setting. All I should have to do is get her talking about Gina or the town, and then direct the conversation a little with my questions. Besides, if she knows I was near the boat when Bryant was killed she shouldn't be surprised that I'm…you know…wanting to know _why_."

"…I don't like the idea of making those kinds of inquiries without some sort of disguise, Dick. It's very risky."

"Bruce, we're already way out of our comfort zone here. This could work, if we play it right. I promise, I won't ask anything that will blow our cover. I'll really turn on the charm."

The billionaire grimaced. "…I'm not saying no," he said finally. "But I want to think about it. We've got a few hours before Alfred will be able to make it back, and there's not much else we can do for the case until he does, since we have neither a non-traceable computer or a car. We should get some sleep."

As if on cue, a massive yawn escaped the teen. "…You won't hear me arguing," he agreed. He knew they had to find Gina fast, but Bruce was right; there was literally nothing more they could do at that moment. _Besides that,_ he allowed, _I'm really freaking tired. _"Should we sleep down here so we know when he gets back?"

"No. I'll leave him a note to wake us up. And to brew some really strong coffee before he does."

Upstairs, Dick fell into bed fully clothed, kicking his shoes off as his feet dangled off the edge. Mumbling an unintelligible goodnight, he rolled over to face the wall and passed out.

Bruce just shook his head with a smile and draped a blanket over him. Climbing gratefully under his own covers, he spared another glance towards his son in the final moments before he fell asleep.


	16. Chapter 16

He awoke to something warm sliding into the narrow bed with him. "…Dick?" he mumbled, still half-asleep.

"Hey. Sorry. I was trying not to wake you."

"What's wrong?" He knew the boy wouldn't be crawling under the covers with him unless something was really bothering him.

"…It's nothing," he muttered, suddenly sounding hesitant. "I'll just go back to my bed." There was a sudden influx of cold air as he got up, but the billionaire reached out to snag his sleeve, stopping him.

"No. Come down here." After a pause, he obeyed, sitting on the edge of the mattress and wrapping his arms around himself. "Tell me what it was."

"…Remember the nightmare I had last night? About the little girl and Erwin?" He kept his eyes trained on the floor as he spoke.

"You had it again?"

"Well, sort of. It started out that way. Then…then it turned into Gina."

_Oh, Dick. _"…I'm sorry."

"It gets worse. I…I was there, too. But…not tied up, the way she was. I was one of the guys waiting around for their turn at her. I didn't want to, but I knew, I_ knew_, that the others would try to force me to hurt her, if not to…to..." He buried his face in his hands, sobbing quietly. "It was _awful_."

"Okay, it's okay," he soothed, sitting up to rock him gently. _Jesus, what a vision to have. No wonder he tried to come over here. I wouldn't want to be alone after that, either._

"I swear, Bruce, I hated it," he choked out. "It was _not_ sexy."

"I know. I know."

"What if…I mean, god, you don't think I actually _want_ something like that, do you? Like, subconsciously? Why else would I have a dream like that?"

"You and I both know better, Dick. You're not some crazy sex maniac in the making. You've just seen a lot of very unpleasant things in your life, both recently and otherwise, and a few of them decided to come out and play tonight. You're also fourteen, which means your hormones are completely off the charts, and that's a whole other set of weirdness in and of itself. Trust me, you're not the first person who's had awful things like that show up in their nightmares."

He reached up and wiped his eyes. "So you've had screwed up dreams like that, too?"

"Everybody does. And they're miserable. But believe me when I say that it's much better to have them and _know_ you're not turned on by them than to not have them and wonder."

"Oh, great, now I'm going to be paranoid that I've got all the problems I _don't_ wake up crying over," he half-joked. For all that he still felt gross, knowing that Bruce had gone through the same problem and come out okay made it much less scary. "Thanks a lot."

"You're fine. Still want to lie down over here?"

"I think…I think I'm okay now. But thanks. For real, this time," he added, almost smiling as he was released to return to the other side of the room. "Sorry I woke you up."

"Go back to sleep, chum. And don't feel bad for waking me. I don't mind." When the teen's breathing had slowed back into slumber, Bruce rolled onto his back and sighed up at the ceiling. _So not only does his first serious crush get kidnapped, but now he's having nightmares in which she's being hurt and he's one of the people causing it. On top of that, the subtext of the dream is making him think that he's as perverted as the people who used the children taken by Erwin. I'm going to have to do some heavy reading on teenage psychology when we get home; I don't want to be unprepared if he keeps having terrors like that even after this is all over with, and reflecting back on my own adolescence is only going to stretch so far._

He heard a car door close in the driveway and looked over to see if it had woken Dick. _Good, _he thought when the boy didn't move. _He can sleep a while longer, it won't hurt anything._ Sneaking silently from the room, he reached the bottom of the stairs just as Alfred entered the house. "Hey. That's not all you brought back, is it?" he frowned, seeing the small size of the two bags being carried in.

"No, Master Wayne, I have a few more things to retrieve." Setting his load on the counter, he cast an inquisitive look at the man shuffling towards him. "I trust you found Master Dick?"

Bruce nodded. "He was at Gina's house, looking for clues. We both ate when we got back," he tacked on before the butler could voice the question.

"Very good, sir. How is he holding up?"

"It varies," he said uncertainly. "He seems to be handling it pretty well now that he knows we're going to work the case, but…he had a nasty dream about her a little while ago. Gina, I mean."

"Oh?" As Bruce shared what he'd been told, the Englishman's mouth tightened. "How horrifying for him. You said he seemed all right, though, after the two of you spoke about it?"

"He _said_ he was, and he went back to sleep pretty fast, but…I don't know. It still worries me. I think he was scared that the dream meant he was no better than the patrons of Pezzoli's dungeon."

"Of course he's not like those…people," he said, his distaste at being so polite with his description showing in his tone. "What an absurd thought." He headed back to the door, then stopped with his hand on the knob. "I have a number of texts on young adult psychology at home, sir. They're a little bit dated now, but I imagine they're still serviceable. Several of them have excellent sections detailing counseling methods for children who have been exposed to…well, to less than savory characters. I would be happy to let you borrow them."

"…Thanks, Alfred. I'd appreciate that."

"I'll bring the computers in next."

"Then I'd better go wake him," the billionaire said, getting up.

"…Oughtn't you let him sleep a while longer, Master Wayne? Children need more sleep than adults, after all."

"He'll be really upset with me if I don't at least give him the option of coming downstairs and working," Bruce countered. "I don't have it in me to get into another fight with him this weekend."

"Very well, sir," the butler said defeatedly.

Before he could get halfway up the steps, the door to their bedroom opened and let Dick out onto the landing with fresh clothes in his hands. "Hey. Did I hear Alfred?"

"Yeah. He just got back."

"Oh. Good." He started down, coming to a stop when Bruce didn't move to let him pass. "Umm…good morning?" he said quizzically, not sure why he wasn't being allowed to pass.

"You don't have to get up right now. You could have another couple of hours sleep and still have plenty of time to hit the computers before we go to talk to Gina's godmother."

"…So we _are_ going to talk to her?"

"Unless something we find between now and then makes talking to her unnecessary, yes." He sighed heavily. "I don't like it, but I don't really see where we have another option."

"It'll be okay, Bruce," Dick said softly, his eyes solemn. "No one's going to figure us out."

"…Since when do _you_ comfort _me_?" he asked, a little annoyed at the boy's confidence in what was far from a certain issue.

"…Since about six years ago, I think," he shrugged back with a knowing smile. "I'm gonna go take a shower." With that, he squeezed past his guardian and finished descending.

_Too clever for his own good,_ Bruce thought as he heard the bathroom door close.

By the time Dick emerged from the bathroom, his damp hair sticking out in various directions, a computer was set up and waiting for him, its screen glowing in anticipation. With a content little sigh, he sat down and unleashed several flurries of keystrokes, the small interruptions in typing punctuated by tiny 'hmms' as we worked his way into the local police force's network. As the programs he'd written to speed the break-in process worked in the background, he Googled Gina's mother's name, curious if anything of interest would come up. "…Hey, Bruce, come look at this."

"What is it?" he replied, getting up from where he'd been skimming digital archives of the local paper, trying to get a better sense of the kind of people they were surrounded by. After a hundred or so daily fishing reports, rummage sale announcements, and notices for meetings of something called LACPOD, he needed a break.

"I searched Lise Burnham-Dunaway, just to see what I could find out about her."

"And?"

"Well, look." He turned the computer around to show him the site he was on. "It's the management roster for the Eastern North American branch of a company called Savant Commodities. Based on what I've read so far, they've got their fingers in every part of the fuels industries you can think of. Ethanol, timber, hydrogen, solar, you name it, they've got a division for it. Most importantly," he tapped the screen, grinning, "their vice president in charge of what they call 'Maritime Resources' happens to be Jack Dunaway. The rich guy Lise left Bryant for."

"The newspaper you found had a headline about the legislature's approval of new offshore development leases," Bruce recalled. "…Okay. So it's something, maybe. Can you find out if any of those leases were granted to Savant Commodities?"

"Way ahead of you," the teen crowed, his eyes shining as he flipped the computer back to himself, clicked a couple of times, and then showed it to his guardian again. "Take a look at _that_."

He examined the map that had been turned to him, quickly determining that it showed the locations of the leases that had been granted and which companies they had been given to. "Savant got the leases just offshore of the town," he realized.

"Exactly! They've got other patches up and down the coast, too, including right out off of the beach here."

"All right, let's regroup. Lay it all out in order."

"Savant Commodities is a fuels conglomerate that's heavy into offshore development," Dick started. "They were recently granted leases to explore and potentially develop sea floor located near here. Their head of 'Maritime Resources,' the division that would logically be heading up the project, is Jack Dunaway, who got Gina's mother to leave Bryant for him." He stopped, finished, then frowned. "…That…that doesn't sound as groundbreaking out loud as it did when I was putting it together in my head. There's still no tie to Bryant, really, let alone reason enough to kill him and steal his boat. And kidnapping Gina doesn't work into it at all."

"Hmm…" Leaning back in his chair to think as Alfred set a fresh cup of coffee down in front of him, Bruce pursed his lips. "…The letter mentioned a deal of some kind, right?"

"Yeah. A 'generous offer,' I think it was, that Dunaway wanted to make with Bryant. Maybe-" he started, then stopped himself. "No, I don't think that's possible."

"What?"

"Bryant couldn't own a certain section of the water, could he? I mean, if his family had fished in that exact spot for like nine generations or something?"

"No. Offshore is government domain, except when there are leases in play for things like resource development. Good try, though." He shook his head. "I don't know, Dick. It feels like it should be a lead, but we won't know for sure until we connect a few more dots. Keep looking."

Sighing morosely, the teen placed his attention back on breaking into the police department's internal records, hoping that a change of pace would help the information on Dunaway process faster. _He's got to involve him __somehow__,_ he mused. _There were so many veiled threats in that letter Lise sent to Bryant, and then with Jack's company interested in developing nearby…that's just too many coincidences. I've __got__ to find the connection._

_ Gina's counting on me, even if she doesn't know it._


	17. Chapter 17

In the hours that followed, they uncovered a wealth of information. The local police were, as they'd suspected, doing virtually nothing to solve Bryant's murder, although they had a least mounted a search effort for the missing boat and the girl who had disappeared with it. Once he was into the station network, it took Dick only a couple of minutes to find the depressingly small evidence folder, which contained a few crime scene photos, a transcript of his interview with the police, and not much else. Clicking through the pictures and wincing as he replayed the muffled gunshot over and over in his head, he recalled something that had slipped his mind the night before.

"Bruce, I think those men were already on the dock when we came back into the harbor," he revealed. "Or on one of the boats anchored there."

The billionaire across from him frowned. "What makes you say that?" He certainly hadn't seen anyone else around, let alone four people skulking around and trying to look innocent.

"It's the way they were positioned. I came down from shore, right? So I was approaching the boat from the landward side. Bryant was in front of it, talking to them. He was facing _away_ from me, and _towards_ the ocean. The ends of the docks all point at the open water; unless they did something weird like walk past the boat and come back before confronting Matt and Bryant, why would they have been facing land when they shot him?"

"…How many other boats were there past Bryant's?"

"…A dozen, I guess? Somewhere around there."

"Find out who those slips are rented to."

"I'm on it. Hopefully the harbormaster keeps that info digitally…"

While the teen chased down where the thugs had come from, Bruce kept plowing through newspapers, census data, municipal finance reports, anything that would help him get a feel for the general state of the community. There had to be a reason behind the murder; it didn't seem likely that four armed men would just be lazing around the docks of a small town like this one looking for a fight. If there was one thing he had learned from years of working in some of the worst parts of Gotham, it was that crimes were frequently tied to neighborhood prejudices and politics. As such, he deemed it prudent to learn what he could about the concerns of the area's inhabitants.

He quickly found that the town was in serious financial straits, despite the hustle and bustle they'd seen in the market. He gleaned from the newspaper archives that commercial fishing hauls had been subpar along this stretch of coast for almost a decade, causing the two large seafood processing plants in the area to shut down three years earlier. The most recent census data indicated that the plants had provided almost forty percent of the jobs available within a decent driving distance, and their closure had left a large portion of the population with little or no income and few prospects for new employment.

The damage hadn't stopped there, either, but had trickled down into the rest of the community to affect even the most basic services. The two officers that they had been unimpressed with the night before made up one-half of the remnants of a once decent-sized small town police force. Two patrol positions had been axed a year after the processors boarded up their windows as city revenues went through the floor; two more followed the next year. The remaining four had taken heavy pay cuts, but managed to keep their jobs. _This place is slowly falling apart,_ Bruce grimaced.

Shortly after he read about the most recent police terminations, he began to come across a group called LACPOD more and more frequently. It had appeared in the calendar and public notices sections of a few of the earlier papers, but had never been spelled out, a journalistic error that drove him further up the wall each time he read the acronym. He tried searching for the letters, hoping they had a website, but found nothing. Just as his grumbling was beginning to rise to audible levels, his eyes lit on an editorial that explained.

"The Local Action Committee for the Promotion of Offshore Drilling," he muttered gratefully. It seemed that a large number of the town's inhabitants – the paper's editor not being among them, judging from the increasingly wild protests that appeared in his column - were in favor of offshore development in the waters outside of town, and had formed LACPOD two years earlier in order to lobby the legislature to open up leases in the area. Their sudden appearance outside of the 'Opinions and Events' page was explained by their endeavor's success a couple of months earlier, an event that had turned the news staff into seething balls of discontent if the suddenly biting satire of their articles was anything to go by.

A shift occurred in the 23 June edition that left Bruce shaking his head in confusion. Scrolling past the lead headlines, he found a piece that was nothing more than the full minutes from the LACPOD meeting of the night before. From that point forward, there were no more vitriolic rants against the "unethical, money-hungry oil barons" who, according to one of the paper's two regular contributors, wanted nothing more than "to rape the fair shores that have sustained our families for a dozen generations." The articles were now painfully neutral, occasionally going so far as to sound in favor of LACPOD and their victory. While he couldn't complain as a reader about the return of a more objective viewpoint, it was highly suspicious. Anyone reading the paper since late June who didn't know better would think that the most contentious issue the locals faced was whether or not a hometown hero would win this year's fishing derby. _What happened to change the editor's opinion? _he wondered. _That's an extreme shift. The edition in Matt's bedroom was one of the last ones that spoke out against the leases, and that article didn't cut any corners when it came to speaking out against offshore development. The staff listing didn't change, so it's not as if they were all fired and replaced._

The billionaire looked up to inform Dick of his findings only to discover that the teen had laid his head on his arm and fallen asleep. His face softening, he came around the table with the intent of carrying him up to bed, but Alfred stopped him. "I would advise leaving him where he is, sir. You'll only wake him if you try to move him, and you know he'll insist on continuing to work."

"…He should at least have a blanket or something," Bruce said, straightening.

"I'll take care of it," the butler replied briskly. "Why don't you take your coffee out to the front porch and get a little fresh air? You've been staring at a screen for several hours straight; I imagine your eyes could use a break."

"We don't have much time, Alfred. We have to go home in 24 hours, and if we don't have this solved before then, I don't know how he'll take it. This seems to be very personal to him."

"I understand, Master Wayne, but you and Master Dick are both already physically and mentally exhausted. If you do not take a rest of some sort, you may very well miss a crucial piece of information due to your tiredness."

_He has a point. If losing a little time now makes me more efficient when I come back in, it's worth it. _"…You win, Alfred," he conceded, picking up his cup and heading for the door. "I'll be outside."

_Just a five minute breather,_ he told himself as he settled into the surprisingly comfortable rocking chair on the porch. Listening to the morning birdsong, he found himself reflecting on the man whose murder he was investigating, trying to determine what it was about him that he'd found distasteful. The longer he thought about Graves, the more he questioned his own negative reaction to him. _Bryant seemed like he was a nice guy,_ he allowed. _Dick certainly acted as if he liked him._ His eyes narrowed with that thought, and he quickly focused elsewhere. _He had a good relationship with Gina, at least so far as I could see. She looked and acted happy enough around him, in any case. He seemed to be pretty good at what he did, too, when he wasn't letting kids get pulled off of boats by ten foot long sharks. _His brow knit again as he recalled the captain's reaction to everything once the mako had been dead and in the boat. _He practically knocked him over congratulating him. He could have been __killed__, and Bryant's reaction was to hoot and holler and say he'd done amazingly. I mean, he __did__ do amazingly, he always does, but there might have been a word of caution thrown in with all the praise. Or, you know, he could have tied him to the boat and prevented it in the first place._

It struck him, suddenly, what the problem was. _I felt left out,_ he realized. _I__ should have been the one telling him good job, __I__ should have been the one grinning and clapping him on the back. Instead, I was the one being angry and, as Dick put it, looking "really freaked out."_ It hadn't just been the shark incident, either; it had been everything about the charter, from the moment the captain had told the boy to head on up and see Gina. _Someone else was showing him the ropes, when it's always been me teaching him up until now. It's one thing when Alfred or Clark shows him something new – although it's still annoying when Clark does it – but Bryant was a complete stranger. Some unknown man was walking around, having good rapport with __my__ son, and giving him pointers and praise in a dangerous activity. And I envied that. Damn. _"Huh," he said out loud.

"More coffee, sir?" Alfred asked, stepping out onto the porch with a carafe in his hand.

"Thanks," he answered, offering his cup distantly. The more he thought about the differences between himself and Bryant, the worse he felt. "Is Dick still sleeping?"

"Yes, Master Wayne. He gave nary a twitch when I covered him. He needs rest after the events of yesterday," he said firmly, wanting to make it clear that the younger of his charges was not to be disturbed unnecessarily.

"Good."

From the look on his face, Alfred surmised that there was more on the billionaire's mind than whether or not his ward was still passed out. "Something on your mind, sir?"

"Bryant Graves, actually."

"Oh? What about him?"

"…I think I was jealous of him. No…I think I still _am_ jealous of him."

"…I'm afraid I don't follow, sir."

"Every other word out of Bryant's mouth was praise, affection, or both, and he didn't even _know_ Dick," he said, looking out at the trees to avoid the butler's gaze. "He was obviously the same way with Gina. Affectionate, physical…_attentive_. Not when there was a shark on the line, obviously, but…otherwise, in other ways. He was one of those people that couldn't speak to someone for thirty seconds before he mentioned how proud he was of his child." _Why am I not like that? Why is it so hard for me to admit my feelings? _ He knew the objective reasons, of course – his parents' deaths, fear of losing someone else compounding into an outright fear of loving anyone, and so on - but the knowledge didn't help his angst._ Bryant was throwing around the 'L' word by eight thirty yesterday morning; some days I can't even get up that early to see him off to school, let alone manage to tell him how important he is to me. _

"Master Wayne," Alfred addressed him quietly, a note of steel in underlining his words, "I'm quite certain that I'm incorrect, but you _almost _sound as if you think that Bryant Graves was somehow a better father than you. _Surely_," he overrode as the seated man tried to reply, "surely you are not so obtuse as to honestly believe such complete drivel."

"Bryant was the kind of person I always imagined John Grayson to be," Bruce whispered.

"…That is neither here nor there," the Englishman replied a little harshly. "Yes, they may have been more open men than you are, but that made them _different_, not superior. You have no need to assault everyone you meet with assertions of how much you adore that boy, because it shows in your eyes every time you are reminded of him. There may well be moments in his life when he wishes that you were more verbally assertive in your love for him, but I would wager that there will never come a time when he truly doubts that love's existence simply because you don't throw a particular four-letter word at him every five minutes. It is simply your way, Master Wayne, and he respects and accepts that. Isn't that enough for you?" Leaving him with that, he went back into the house.

_The nerve of the man, to be so stupidly self-pitying at a time like this, _he fumed as he emptied the carafe into the sink and began to make a new pot of coffee_. As if Master Dick would accept anyone but Bruce Wayne as a father figure at this point. Good lord, even if John Grayson himself were to return from the dead the Vegas odds would be in Master Wayne's favor._ Stoked, he almost went back outside to say as much, but was prevented by Bruce coming inside and joining him in the kitchen.

"I owe you an apology, Alfred," he said quietly, leaning against the counter a few feet away. "I probably owe Dick one, too. You're completely right, I just…" He scrubbed a hand over his face roughly before he continued. "I just see him like he is right now, stalked by nightmares, driving himself into the ground on a case, and I'm so afraid of what I'm doing to him. I see how people like Bryant are with their children, and I wonder if he would somehow be even stronger, more resilient, if I was more expressive with him. Even if nothing else changed but that, I wonder how much of a difference it might make, and I curse myself that I'm unable to be that way for him."

The butler, his mood tempered somewhat by the apology and the explanation that had followed it, handed him a paper towel and looked away tactfully while the other man wiped his eyes. "You, exactly as you are, are the person he needs more than any other in the world. Do you know how I know that, sir?"

"No. I don't."

"I know that because he shows it constantly, without realizing that he's doing so. When you're home in time for dinner, his appetite is bigger. The mornings when he gets to see you, even if it's just for a few minutes, lead to the afternoons when he is at his happiest. He gives you smiles and looks that no one else is privy to, not even myself. I have heard him defend you tirelessly against thoughtless words spewed on the television, in the press, and from the mouths of adults that other children would no doubt be intimidated by. The most telling thing, though, is how he reacts when he hears you praised."

"…How's that?" Bruce asked curiously.

"He wears the exact same look that you do when the compliment is about him."

The billionaire had to bite his lower lip to keep it from trembling. "…Thank you, Alfred," he said slowly.

"Of course, sir," he inclined his head slightly, sighing internally as he sensed the storm dwindling away. "Any time."

**Author's note: Crime solving AND angst, oh my :). Next up, just how much DOES a fishmonger hear? Thanks for reading and reviewing!**


	18. Chapter 18

"Ugh," Dick groaned, opening his eyes slowly. _I must have fallen asleep while we were working_, he realized. _Crap. I didn't mean to do that. _Raising his head, he found Bruce still across from him, staring at his computer.

"Did you sleep well?" the man asked without looking away from the article he was reading.

"Sorry," the teen said abashedly.

The word forced Bruce to look at him, face pinching. "Don't apologize. You needed the rest. It's not a crime to sleep when you're tired."

"How much time did I lose?"

"A couple of hours. It's pushing noon. But," he pointed out, "you'll work better now that you've given your brain time to process things."

"Noon," he sighed. "We have what, twenty four hours left, max?"

"We can go into tomorrow afternoon if we absolutely have to, but that's about it. He paused. "I have some new info you might find interesting."

"…You worked the whole time, didn't you?"

"No. I didn't," he answered simply, spying the guilty glint in his son's eyes. _I'm not really deceiving him,_ he reasoned to himself._ I __did__ take a break. If not going into the details saves him from the inferiority complex he seems determined to develop of late, I'm not above a little white lie or two._

"…Really?"

"Really. I sat on the porch in the sun long enough that Alfred had to come out and refill my coffee. Didn't you, Alfred?" he called to where the butler was preparing lunch in the kitchen.

"I did indeed, sir," he concurred, knowing exactly what Bruce was doing and approving wholeheartedly.

"…Okay," the boy accepted their dual testimony, his posture relaxing as he pulled his own laptop closer. "At least I should be into the Harbormaster's computers by now. Fill me in while I find out who owns those other slips."

The billionaire did, telling him about the town's economic problems and the activities of LACPOD in the aftermath of the processors' closures. By the time he finished going over the strange alteration in opinion shown by the newspaper staff, a massive frown was wreathing the teen's face. "That's a hell of a look," he commented.

"Huh? Oh. I was just listening and looking at this at the same time. Neither one makes me very happy," he muttered. "You're right, the switch in the newspaper's slant is really sketchy. We know Savant Commodities just got the offshore exploration leases near town, so maybe Dunaway paid them off? Late June was long enough after the leases were granted for him to have assessed the situation. Buying the press would be a smart move, especially since it seems like they were the vanguard of his opposition. It makes sense with the way you said things have been around here the last three years. Plus, the economic situation explains why the police officer we talked to was so interested in whether or not you were thinking of investing in the area. This whole place needs someone with capital to take an interest, or it'll drown in debt."

Bruce nodded; he'd been thinking the same thing, and was pleased that Dick agreed. "It wouldn't be the first time a corporation bought influence in the media to make it easier to reach their goals…What?" he added, seeing the boy's eyebrows go up.

"You don't mean _you've-_"

"No," he laughed a bit. "That's a little too evil for my tastes, don't you think?"

"I was really hoping so."

"Well, it is."

"Good."

"…Find anything out from the Harbormaster?" he ventured after several speechless minutes that were punctuated only by Dick shuffling his feet under the table and sighing.

"They keep the slip assignments on their computers," he told him, "which I figured they would. Everything's digital now."

"Thank god," Bruce cut in, remembering how much more difficult it had been to get your hands on evidence even ten years earlier, when so many people were still relying on hard copies.

"_But_ they don't seem to keep rentals of less than 30 days duration in the system. I guess it's easier to keep those records on paper, since they change so frequently. And of course, the Coeur de Lise has the next-to-last long term slip. I can find the owners for the next pair of spots – Marty Gallagher in A44, and a company called Discovery Adventures in A43 - but after that there's nothing. There are ten spots I can't account for." He met his guardian's gaze. "We're going to have to get into the Harbormaster's office to find out who was renting those spots last night."

_Damn. _"…We'll deal with that when we get there. What can you find on the two we do know?"

"Marty Gallagher has rented his slip for almost twenty years. That's the one right next to Bryant's. The green boat. Discovery Adventures…" He searched quickly. "No, I doubt they have anything to do with it. According to their website, they run whale-watching tours all over the east coast. They don't even have an office in town; people who want to start the tour from here get picked up by a boat that leaves out of another port earlier in the day. That seems to be the only reason they even have a slip here, is to pick up the occasional tourist."

"I don't recall there being anything in that spot yesterday," Bruce mused.

"Nope. It was empty when we left and when we came back. Even if those guys were dropped off by Discovery Adventures, they would have been waiting around on the dock for like three hours, according to this schedule."

"Probably not them, then."

"Doesn't look like it."

Pushing his computer out of the way as Alfred set a bowl of gazpacho in front of him, Bruce grimaced. "I think we've about exhausted what we can learn from here," he said slowly. "We're going to have to go into town and start doing things the old fashioned way."

"Margie and the Harbormaster's?" Dick asked before thanking the butler for the soup and digging in.

"No. Only Margie. I don't want us attempting the Harbormaster's without masks, and we're not doing it in the daylight, either. It's bad enough that we're going to ask sensitive questions as ourselves; I'm not taking the chance of getting caught breaking into a building while we're at it. Besides, Margie may tell us something that makes going to the Harbormaster's unnecessary. We'll go to town, talk to the fishmonger, and go from there. Sound good?"

The teen's eyes widened. "You're asking _me_?" _You never ask me. It's always just 'here's what we're doing, now go do it.'_

"It's your case, Dick. Besides, you've made it pretty clear that you've got your own ideas of how – and whether - we should investigate this," he smiled, nudging his foot under the table as he referenced his running off the night before. "I'm not saying I'll change my mind about how we proceed, but you're welcome to share your opinion of the plan." _Especially if doing so makes you feel more valued as my partner,_ he didn't add.

He thought hard for several long seconds. He understood Bruce's concerns about going to the Harbormaster's before dark, but if Margie didn't offer anything useful the records of who was renting the short-term slips might be the only lead they were left with. Waiting for hours before they moved on it sounded like a good way to find themselves without a solution and out of time. He was flattered that the man actually seemed to want to hear his thoughts on the matter, and desperately didn't want to suggest anything that would make him regret listening, but it was too soon to determine when they would attempt the Harbormaster's office. "Maybe…" he started. "Okay, I agree that we should go to Margie first and see what she can tell us. But, I don't think we should completely shut out the idea of trying the Harbormaster's before dark. Could…could we leave that as a potential option, and discuss it again after we see what we learn from Margie? Just in case it turns out to be our last chance?"

The billionaire hesitated. "We can discuss it again after we talk to her, but I seriously doubt that anything will make me decide it's worth the risk. Understood?"

"Yes," he smiled, happy just to have been included in the decision. They ate without speaking again. When they were finished, Alfred took their dishes to the kitchen and moved to the door, waiting as they shut down the laptops. "Are we taking anything with us?" Dick asked as they stood.

"No. If we decide to do the Harbormaster's, or something else that requires gear, we'll come back here first."

They rehashed what they knew on the drive into town, batting each fact back and forth, trying to see things from every possible angle. They made no startling breakthroughs, however, and by the time they parked across the street from the market entrance they'd fallen silent, each retreating into himself to scrabble at the evidence privately.

"I'll wait with the car, sirs," Alfred informed them.

"…Actually," Dick said slowly, "I think you should come with us."

"We're pushing our luck as it is," Bruce contended.

"That's my point. If someone sees you and I talking to Margie, and then finds out there was a masked duo running around last night and tonight, it would be kind of easy to connect the dots, especially since I'm obviously not an adult. If people see _two_ adults and a kid talking to Margie, though, it might not cross their minds that we're the ones in masks, because they'll be trying to match pairs, not a pair and a group of three. Plus, Alfred was on the boat yesterday, too; it makes sense that he might be…_curious_ about Bryant."

"…Do you already know what you're going to say to her?" the billionaire asked, looking at him closely. _He's right about people not being as likely to match us up if they remember seeing us as a group. Besides, that __is__ the way we've been seen each time we've come into town, with the exception of when Dick was off with Gina._

"I've got a pretty good idea of how I want to lead into it, yeah. Having Alfred with us will help. You don't mind, do you?" he directed towards the butler.

"Not in the least, Master Dick. I would be honored to be of use in your plan."

"Bruce?"

"It's your call, chum. If you think it will work better with three of us, then that's what we'll do."

"Awesome," he grinned. "Let's do this."

Several minutes later, his good mood – carefully hidden under an expression of quiet sadness that he felt would be suitable for the situation – was flattened. "Uh oh," he breathed as they turned down the row containing Margie's stand. _She's not here. Shit!_ His eyes darted up to Bruce, who was walking at his side.

"Let's try Gina's stand," the man suggested, his lips pursing as he, too, noticed the fishmonger's absence.

They rounded another corner, and Dick felt the tightness in his shoulders release slightly. _There__ she is. That was scary. _Without having to be asked to, Bruce and Alfred dropped back, giving him a head start to break the ice. "Hi, Margie," he greeted, giving her a pitiful little smile as he drew to a stop in front of the counter she was manning.

"Hiya, honey. How're you holding up?" Her eyes, he noticed, were rimmed with red as if she'd been crying regularly. "I heard you were there when…well, I heard you had a rough evening yesterday."

"…Yeah. I'm okay, I guess. Just worried about Gina."

"I know. I am, too."

"She told me you're her godmother? Is that right?"

"Sure am. Her daddy and I, we knew each other all through school. He and my husband have been best friends since they were practically in diapers." Tearing up, she pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose. "Soon as that girl was brought to Bryant, I told him, you let me be the closest thing to a mother she's ever gonna have. Between you, me, and Marty, we'll make sure she comes out all right." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, you probably didn't come here to listen to a crazy fishmonger like me babble on about old times. Come for your rockfish, have you? I see you brought the other two with you again today," she nodded towards where Bruce and Alfred had stopped a few yards away.

"Margie, I…" he said slowly, scuffing his toe in the gravel. He'd started out acting, exaggerating his sadness a little to match hers, but as he realized how deep her history with the Graves family ran he began to feel like he was intruding despite the fact that he was trying to help. "Well…I don't want to be rude or anything, but…"

"But what? You're not going to hurt my feelings, I promise."

"I just…all three of us went out with…with Bryant, yesterday, on his boat. We went fishing. And we had a really good time, and with what happened afterwards…I was just hoping that maybe you could, you know, tell us some more about him? He was a really great guy, and we're all kind of sad that we didn't get to know him better." _Well, Bruce probably doesn't regret that, _he thought, remembering the antagonism towards the captain that he had been able to sense leaching off of his guardian. "We were already making plans to come back up later this summer, just to go fishing with him again." That part was an outright lie, but since Margie had all but given him permission to toe the line of her emotions, he decided to go for it. With Gina's life in the balance, he didn't think she'd mind.

"Just to go fishing, huh?" she asked, giving him a knowing, if tearful, look. "I shouldn't tell you this, I promised Gina, but…" She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "She called me, night before last. Said she'd met a real cutey here in the market, and then again down on the beach. I'd never heard her so excited before over anything except shark fishing and marine biology. Just knew it had to be you she was talking about." She pulled back and waited expectantly for her suspicions to be verified.

"…I really like her, too," he confessed. He didn't have to act anymore to make his own eyes wet. "I wish we knew where she was. That…that she was safe." A tear ran down his cheek. "And I wish I could have helped Bryant. I…I know what it's like to lose your parents. I wouldn't wish that on anybody, especially not her."

"Oh, sweetheart," the fishmonger moaned, pouting and sniffling as she regarded him. "You couldn't have done anything. It's a miracle they didn't take a shot at you, too. Don't you go feeling sad that you couldn't save him. There's a lot more going on in this town than meets the eye; trust me when I tell you that it was out of your hands."

_Bingo. She __does__ know something. Play it cool, Grayson, don't give yourself away._ "…What do you mean?"

"It's just a lot of political kerfuffle," she waved away. "Nothing to worry your precious little head about."

_Crud, I can't let her get off topic. _His mind whirled as he tried to think of some way to interest her in sharing what she knew. The wind changed slightly as he shifted his feet, carrying a note of the low conversation Bruce was having with Alfred to his ears. _Bruce. Perfect._ "You know," he said slowly, meeting her gaze with a serious mien. "My guardian…well, I'm guessing you recognize him," he shrugged.

"Doll, everybody who reads the society columns knows Bruce Wayne. And you," she added.

"Well…he's pretty good at sorting out political stuff." He paused to let his words sink in, and felt a spike of joy when Margie's face grew interested. "I mean, he liked Bryant. He's already said that if…I mean, _when_…Gina's found, he'd like to set up a trust for her." The man had said no such thing, of course, but now that he'd had the idea Dick intended to see that it occurred. _She can have part of mine, if he balks,_ he thought savagely. _What am I going to do with a hundred million dollars?_ "I'm sure he'd like to do something to help the other people Bryant left behind. I don't know much about this kind of stuff, he's only just started teaching me about business and all of that, but if the other side is killing people…well, it sounds to _me_ like you're on the good side. Bruce likes to be on the good side. He likes to make sure that the good side _wins_."

She glanced towards the billionaire, whose gaze Dick could feel drilling into the back of head, skeptically. "You read some not so nice things about him, you know," she said.

"My mother always said you can't believe everything you read," he responded, dropping his eyes as he reached out to play with the fin of one of fish laid out on the table. "He gives tons of money to charities. And to other things, too."

"Yeah, I've heard that." Her voice had softened, but he knew she needed something more to be really convinced that it would be okay to bring Bruce in on her little secrets about what was going on.

"…And he's raised me," he tacked on quietly. "Not that that means much, compared to all the other people he helps, but…it means a lot to me. He's…he's a really good father."

"…I have to admit, sugar, I kind of feel like I'm courting the devil. You've got one hell of a silver tongue."

_I blew it,_ he thought, swallowing hard. _I shouldn't have pushed so hard._

"…But I believe you, for some reason," she went on, oblivious to his fear. "Maybe it's because Gina trusts you, even though she doesn't like people who are too well off." She leaned forward again. "I don't really know how Bruce Wayne can help the few of us who have held on to our positions in this fight, but right now we're grasping at straws. With Bryant gone, there's nobody left to lead us, at least nobody with the education to do it well. I don't like the thought of bringing in outsiders, but…" she sighed. "He always had a saying about whatchacallems. Mercenaries, freelancers."

"What was it?" Dick asked, curious.

"That sometimes they're all that wins the day, even for the most just of causes. I ain't saying we're _just_, necessarily; I'm no philosopher. But we are desperate. Something's got to shift, and fast, or it'll be too late. Might already be, with Bryant gone." Tearing a clean piece of paper from the notepad on which she recorded her sales, she sketched a quick map. "This is how you get to my house. Market closes up at three today; I'll need a little time to get back. Meet me there at five, and we'll see if your guardian can help us."

"Wait…us? I don't think he'll want to talk to anyone but you."

"It'll just be me, don't you worry. There aren't many others left, and almost all of them are too nervous to help after last night." Giving him the directions, she squeezed his hand, holding it for a moment. "I want to thank you for helping Gina get over something she'd carried for a long time."

"Her mother," he nodded. "She told me, on the beach."

Margie looked at him appraisingly, and Dick briefly felt like a piece of rockfish. "She really _does_ trust you, doesn't she?" she murmured. "Well. Thank you again."

"Sure," he smiled. "Thank _you_, for giving us a chance to help. We'll see you at five."

"I'll make you a fish dinner like none you've ever had, honey," she winked. "And we'll have our talk. You stay safe, now."

He rejoined Bruce and Alfred, and the three of them headed around towards the market's exit. "Well?" the billionaire queried once they were out of view of the fishmonger. "…Did it go all right?" he asked more softly, reading the boy's quiet as a sign that the woman hadn't cooperated.

"I'll tell you in the car," he replied, flashing him a meaningful look.

"We failed to select a fish for your dinner, sirs," Alfred pointed out.

"That's okay," Dick said quickly, trying to look everywhere without making his darting gaze obvious as they neared the front and encountered more people. _ Something about the way Margie was talking towards the end makes me think that there are eyes everywhere in this place,_ he thought. _We should probably buy something, or at least stop at some other booths to look. If there really __are__ people watching who are involved with Bryant's killers, it will give us away if we just talk to Margie and then leave town._

"You know what, let's have shrimp tonight," he said suddenly, diverting over to a stand displaying an array of sizes. Conferring with Alfred, he picked out two pounds worth, then found four other places to stop and look on their way out. _Okay. I think that should be enough to cover our tracks. Just in case, though…_ "We should grab drinks for the way home," he suggested as they reached the sidewalk. "I'm kind of hot after all this sun."

"Sure," Bruce agreed, feigning ease. Drawing on the instinct built by hundreds of nights spent fighting back to back, he had picked up on Dick's heightened awareness immediately, and quickly determined what he was doing with his several detours to the tourist counters of the market. "Maybe I'll try one of those frappuccino things you're obsessed with."

"Seriously?" the teen asked, legitimately surprised.

"Like you said, it's hot out. Besides, it's still coffee."

It took them twenty minutes to get drinks and return to the car. "Let's go, Alfred," Dick said as soon as they were all inside. "I don't want anyone to see us sitting here, talking."

"Very well, Master Dick," the butler acceded, starting the vehicle and pulling smoothly away from the curb.

"We're meeting Margie at her house at five," he explained before Bruce could ask.

"At her _house_?" His brain threw up warning signs left and right.

"Apparently there are things Bryant was involved in that she doesn't feel safe discussing in a public place," he replied. "She said most of the others on their side are too scared to keep fighting since last night. This is a lot bigger than we thought it was."

"Dick. I want you to think before you answer this question."

"…Okay?"

"Are you _certain_ we can trust her?"

Dick sighed. _Is there __anyone__ you aren't automatically suspicious of? _"She's Gina's godmother, Bruce. She and Bryant were in school together. Her husband was Bryant's best friend. She believes that she may literally be putting her life on the line to keep up the fight that she seems to think got him killed." He took a long sip of his drink. "If we can't trust her, then there is _nobody_ in this town that we can trust."

**Author's Note: This chapter turned out WAY longer than I expected it to. Hope no one minds. :D**


	19. Chapter 19

"So…what do you think of it?" After his resounding vouchsafe for Margie, no one had spoken for several minutes. Now that they were outside of town, however, he couldn't take any more silence.

"…It's not bad," the billionaire said contemplatively after washing a sip of the java chip frappuccino he'd ordered on Dick's suggestion around his mouth. He took another drink. "Actually, it's pretty good."

"I _told_ you," the teen beamed. "And you said you didn't like things with chunks in them."

"I don't, usually. I'm not normally a fan of rambunctious teenagers, either. Apparently I'm capable of making exceptions in both cases."

"And at the same time," Dick said, nodding with an impressed look on his face. Bruce's eyes met his, sparkling with repressed mirth, and the boy burst out laughing. "You truly do have remarkable patience," he managed to gasp sarcastically.

"You have _no_ idea." Grateful as he was for the bout of comic relief, he turned the topic back to their pending interview as soon as his ward had regained his breath. "How did you convince her to talk? You didn't tell her _too_ much, did you?"

"She doesn't have a clue, Bruce. It was all saccharine and suggestions about your sense of _noblesse oblige_."

"How far is that extending these days?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Um…" Dick shifted slightly uneasily in his seat. "…You may have promised Gina a trust fund. But you can give her half of mine," he tacked on quickly. "I don't mind, really."

"No one is touching your trust fund except you. Although now that I think about it, you really don't need it, seeing as how you're my legal heir. Even if something were to happen to me before you were of age, Alfred's the designated trustee, so you know it would be safe."

"…Am I really your heir?" he asked, a little blown away.

Bruce shot him a look. "Who else would I leave everything to?"

"I dunno," he shrugged. "Guess I just never thought about it."

"…You don't mind, do you?" He hadn't thought about whether or not Dick would _want_ to inherit everything, or anything for that matter, from him, although it had seemed like a pretty safe bet even before the boy had indicated that he wanted to follow him in business.

"No! No, I don't mind. It's just…weird to think about. Inheriting." He shook his head, not wanting to dwell on what would have to occur for such a thing to happen. "Anyway, Gina gets a trust fund, right?"

"Sure. I don't have a problem with that. It won't be anywhere near as big as yours is, obviously, but it'll be more than sufficient to let her get started in the world. Did I make any other grandiose promises while you were spending my money?"

"…I, uh, might have said something to make Margie think that you'll ensure that the good side wins."

"So only a mildly more onerous task than handing a stack of cash to an orphan," he sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Well, it worked, didn't it? I mean, she's making us dinner."

"You agreed to eat her food?!"

"Ahh…yes." _I should have known you wouldn't like that._

"…You aren't taking a bite until I've tried everything on your plate."

"Oh, yeah, _that_ won't look suspicious in the least. 'Great looking meal, Margie. Tell me, which antidotes should I sprinkle on it before I dig in?'" He snorted. "She's not going to poison us, Bruce. Jeez."

"Dick, I'm not kidding around. We do not know this woman. I trust your instincts about her enough for us to go into her house and listen, but you are not to eat or drink anything she gives you until I say so. You said yourself that this is starting to look bigger than we thought it was; the last thing we should be doing is letting our guard down. Is that clear?" _I am __not__ taking any more chances with your safety than I have to._

"Okay, I get it," he agreed tersely. "Here's hoping she's into family style serving."

"Even if she is, you will _still_ wait until I say it's safe."

"All right!" To the relief of them both, they pulled up to the cottage a few minutes later. "Are we taking anything when we go back to town?" he asked, a strained note still evident in his voice as they got out of the car.

"Yes. I think this time we should go prepared to be out all night."

"In which case, Master Wayne," Alfred put forth, "might I suggest that you both utilize the time before our rendezvous to get some sleep? You may not get another opportunity until tomorrow if things go well." _Or if they go very badly,_ he couldn't help but tack on in his head.

"…Are you tired?" he asked the teen over the roof of the car.

"Are you kidding? I'm beat, even after the coffee."

"Then it's bedtime."

"I never thought I'd be happy to hear those words."

"I've laid out what I believe you will both find to be suitable costumes for this evening," Alfred contributed. "You may wish to try them on before we leave."

"Cool," Dick grinned. "New clothes."

"I'm raising a fashionista," Bruce rolled his eyes with mock despair.

"Just because you let Alfred lay out your outfits for you every day doesn't mean the rest of us don't like to dabble in making ourselves look good," the boy replied. "It's fun."

"You can have my share of that 'fun.'"

"Oh, c'mon, Bruce. Let's go model our temporary costumes for each other before we go to sleep." His eyes were wide and begging as they moved towards the house, and the billionaire knew he was going to agree.

"Oh, all right. God, you make that face and I can't deny you anything," he shook his head.

"Good to know," the teen said slyly, winking to let him know he was joking before he bounced inside and upstairs. Bruce followed at a more sedate pace and found him already half-changed by the time he reached the bedroom.

"…Are those pants comfortable enough?" he asked, seeing the way the dark denim clung to the boy's lower half. _He's not used to having material on his legs when he's fighting. I don't want it to affect his ability to move if we get into a bad situation._

"Yeah. They're the same skinny jeans I wore out to Gina's last night. Why?" His face darkened. "He better not have tried to dress us alike again."

"I did no such thing, young sir," the butler defended himself, coming in with an armload of clothing and setting it on a chair. "These are the other items I brought from the manor, in case you find that what I put together is not optimal. Do try the sweater on, Master Dick."

"Ooh, it's soft," he groaned, pulling it over his head. "And warm. Too warm. Gah, I think I'm melting."

"Much better than I anticipated," Alfred nodded. "Turn around, please."

"…It's a little loose," Dick said. "Kind of easy for someone to grab onto."

"It won't be once you've put armor on under it," Bruce said.

"I get my own armor? Sweet!" His face lit up. "Way to make me feel like a big kid," he teased, punching his guardian's arm lightly.

"…If I'd known you felt that way, we could have gotten you some before now. You've never mentioned wanting it."

"I don't know if it's something I would want to wear all the time," he shrugged. "It's just cool to get to try it, you know? Ugh," he groaned, shrugging the sweater off. "It's so _hot_ in that thing. Can't I just wear this?" he inquired, indicating the black and blue long-sleeved cycling jersey he'd put on as an under layer. "This almost feels like I'm in my Robin costume. I like the colors, too," he added, looking down at himself.

"There is a squall scheduled to reach us this evening, Master Dick," the butler informed him. "If you end up out on the water, you will want the extra layer."

"At least take it with," Bruce insisted. "Hmph," he voiced, examining his own clothing.

"Are you displeased with your wardrobe, sir?"

"No. This will work. It's just…not what I'm used to." _I cannot wait to get home and be able to wear the right clothes out on jobs,_ he sighed to himself.

"Very well. If you're both satisfied, I'll leave you to your rest." The butler retired, and his charges wasted no time in shucking off their makeshift disguises and falling asleep.

"Bruce," came Dick's voice some two hours later. "Bruce? Are you awake?"

"Huh?" he started. "Oh. What's wrong? Did you have another nightmare?"

"Well, yeah, but that's starting to be par for the course." If he had been looking towards his guardian rather than at the ceiling, he would have seen the way the man winced at his words. "They weren't as bad as the last one I had. But that's not why I woke you. It's quarter past four."

_Already? _"…Don't wear your working clothes to Margie's. Just in case."

"Obviously." Getting up, they dressed without speaking, bundled their disguises under their arms, and made their way downstairs.

"Sirs," Alfred greeted them. "I've already loaded your armor and belts into the car. The armor isn't quite up to the usual standard, but it should be sufficient for one evening. I was only able to procure vests from my supplier," he added, clearly unhappy about the fact. "I searched the cave thoroughly for other pieces, but everything I found was very clearly part of Batman's usual attire."

"At least you brought our belts," the teen said happily, remembering how unprepared he'd felt sneaking into Gina's house without its comforting weight around his waist. "…Did you dye mine?" he frowned. "That yellow's pretty obvious."

"No, young sir. I modified a spare of Batman's to fit you. Your belts are common enough looking that I don't believe anyone would connect them back to Gotham," he added for Bruce's benefit. "If you're both ready…?"  
Dick fretted silently the entire way to town. _What if she's changed her mind? What if someone got to her while we were gone? _He sighed. _She's got to know something. She just __has__ to._

They found the house easily. Margie had been watching for them for twenty minutes, and threw the front door open as soon as they pulled into the driveway. "Let's get inside," she said nervously, ushering them through a tiny living room and into an equally small dining area. "Sit. I'll bring the food, no point in you starving while we talk."

Returning a moment later, she set several courses down and urged them to help themselves. Bruce was careful to pass each item to their hostess, and watched as she, too, loaded a plate. "Don't mind me, I didn't eat yet today. Let me just get a couple bites in before we start…" Having said as much, she proceeded to clear almost half of what she'd dished out for herself before leaning back in her chair and wiping her mouth.

The three of them made a show of cutting their fish into small segments as Margie chowed down, completely unaware of their caution. Once he could see that she had swallowed a little of everything she'd served without hesitation, Bruce sent a tiny nod towards Dick and Alfred. _She still could have put something in it and just happen to have the antidote on hand for herself, but I doubt it. _There was absolutely nothing in the woman's attitude to make him think that she was anything more than the plain fisherman's wife she claimed to be. _She'd be taking a huge risk doing anything to us like this, anyway, _he realized._ How would she explain the poisoning of the entire Wayne family in her house? _For the first time since this particular adventure had started, Bruce found a reason to be glad that they weren't in masks.

"So," she began, then stopped to beam at Dick as he savored the rockfish. "You like it, doll?"

"This is _amazing_," he groaned, his expression almost blissful.

"It is superb, madam," Alfred agreed. "I have rarely tasted such a delicately flavored fish."

Only half-listening as Margie explained about her grandmother's marinade, Bruce realized that he had never actually witnessed the butler partake of a meal. He'd seen him accept an hors d'oeuvre or two on very special occasions, but this was uncharted territory. _Dick's thinking the same thing,_ he chuckled to himself as he saw the teen throw several curious glances in the Englishman's direction. _It's strange; he obviously has to eat, I've just never thought about when and where he does it until now. How did I overlook that?_

"Anyway, that's more than you ever wanted to know about cooking rockfish," she waved her napkin in one hand. Turning to face Bruce head on, she regarded him closely. "I had lots of time this afternoon to think about whether or not I'd made a mistake in asking you all here, and I've decided that even if the only thing that telling you everything I know gets me is a hole in the ground, it's better than sitting around doing nothing. I'll tell you right out; I don't trust you, Mr. Wayne. Not really. But I do trust your boy, and he says you're a good man and can help me." The billionaire's eyes slid over to Dick, who looked down, blushing slightly. "The police aren't doing hardly anything – they're barely even looking for Gina, it's like they know something I don't – and this is getting too rough. My people are getting killed, and I can't stand for that. So. There's my opener. What do you want to know? I'm probably digging my own grave, but I'll tell you everything I can."

A quick look from his partner told Bruce that he was free to lead the questioning. "Do you know who killed Bryant?" he asked, deciding to cut straight to the chase since she'd declared her intention of spilling everything she could.

"Not to where I could go down to the station and name names, but I've got my suspicions." Her eyes narrowed. "You know the legislature just gave a big corporation permission to explore offshore of here for oil and gas?"

"Yes."

"They've been trying to get permission for years. Well, what they're looking for is out there, but there's a problem. The area they're allowed to develop is just the edges of the field. They could get enough to make it profitable, but the real mother lode sits inland, right under the black cliffs."

"…Wait…the ones next to Gina's house?" Dick asked, his fork hanging in midair as he stared at Margie.

"That's them." She paused. "I guess it is Gina's now, isn't it? I'm so used to thinking of it as Bryant's…" Looking away, she blinked hard several times before continuing. "Anyway, Bryant took a lot of geology classes when he was up at school. He told me the only way for anyone to get to the stuff under the cliffs is to put a drill practically where his house sits. There isn't much of it that's easily accessible; it's deep, not wide, and like I said there's a lot of rock on top of it. This company, this Savant whatever, they've been sending people around every once in a while for over a decade, trying to get him to sell them the land. But he can't. His family's been there since before the Revolution; he'd be turning his back on three hundred years of history if he sold it."

"Margie, who knows about the oil, other than you?" Dick broke in. His mind was racing. _I'll bet Bryant would have told Lise, if he thought it would get her to stay. He named his boat after her, surely he'd have tried to sell the land if it would have been enough to keep her with him._

"Let's see now…Bryant only found out about it himself right after his own father died, and he didn't want it getting out too far. I'd say probably just Matt, Marty, and me. Gina might have an idea, too; Bryant didn't keep much of anything from her."

"No one else? Maybe…maybe Lise? Would he have told her, do you think?"

"…Well I never really thought about it, honey, but I reckon he might have told her, too. They were together when he found out about it, and it seems like the kind of thing he would share with her. But she's been out of their lives ever since she signed over her rights to Gina."

"Oh," Dick nodded. _So she doesn't know about the letter Bryant. Interesting. _"That's right, she told me about that." He went along with the woman, but his eyes were sparking triumphantly. _It makes sense. Bryant told Lise about the oil to get her to stay, but she wouldn't, either because she didn't believe him or because she honestly loved Dunaway. Whether or not he would have sold it for her doesn't matter; the point is, she had every reason to tell her new husband about it. She probably found it hilarious, especially if she thought he was lying. All it would have taken Dunaway was a couple hours of research to realize that Bryant had been telling the truth. He's been chasing this field for fifteen years, though; why is it that he's only now resorting to violence?_

Bruce, looking past his protégé's carefully controlled expression and recognizing that he was processing something complex, picked up the thread of the conversation. "You told Dick that not many people are with you since Bryant was killed," he changed tack. "Was it the drilling that he was fighting? The leases?"

"Both," she shrugged. "He was very against it, always has been. Too risky so close to the fishing grounds, he always said. Most of the folks around here used to agree with us about it, but…that was before the processors pulled out. Now, everywhere I go I hear people saying that the fishing is already ruined, and that sticking to it is ruining them. It's the ones who were working at the processors or on the commercial boats before the shutdowns who started LACPOD. I guess in their minds it makes sense; fishing isn't supporting them anymore, so what's the point in protecting the fishing grounds?" She shook her head in frustration, ire drawing color into her cheeks as she went on.

"They talk proud about how all their menfolk are going to be able to get jobs building the offshore platforms and then working on them, and how there'll be a boom in the local economy from all the people they bring from out of town to work the rigs coming in shop, and eat, and do what men who are far from home do. I feel for them; a lot of people around here have taken a bad hit the past few years. It's not really their fault, they're just trying to protect their families, and I guess inviting the developers in is the only way they can figure to do that. But my family, the people I care about, we're all still fishers. We still make a living with our boats, and we try to help the others when we can. It's gotten tighter for us, too, but we can't give up. This is our heritage. Marty and I were never lucky enough to have children, but Gina's like our own, and I'll be damned if I don't do everything I can to pass that heritage on to her." She fixed her eyes on Bruce. "Do you understand that, Mr. Wayne?"

"I do," he answered.

"Good. I'm glad." Breaking away, she picked at the table cloth for a moment, then took a sip of water. "Well. More and more people have been getting sucked into the pro-drilling side of things. I don't know who's funding LACPOD – I guess it's probably Savant – but it's like the whole town's under a spell of money; it's been so long since most people around here had any to spare that seeing just a few of their neighbors with an extra dollar and being promised one for themselves has made them all lose their heads. Last night scared the few that were left on our side bad, especially Gina's disappearance. No one understands that, not even me. I know this all has something to do with those offshore leases, though, and the oil under the cliffs. Everybody knew that Bryant was against the development they want to see; somebody targeted him specifically. I don't know if it was Savant or LACPOD – some of the leaders of that group have been mean people since the day they were born, I know because I grew up with them – who ordered him killed, but it was somebody tied up in this oil business."

Taking a deep breath and looking around, she saw that they had finished eating some time before and were now listening raptly. "Oh, I almost forget about the cake! Here, let me have your plates and I'll be right back with dessert." Alfred rose to help her, but she waved him back down. "No, no, my kitchen's too small for two people," she insisted. "When I come back, Mr. Wayne, I'd like to know how you're going to help me with this. I really would." She disappeared with her arms loaded, leaving Bruce and Dick staring at one another.

"Well? What's my civilian plan?" the billionaire hissed.

"How should I know?!"

"This was _your_ interview! You set it up! What did you tell her I could do?"

"I just said you were good at fixing political problems! I didn't say _how_ you fixed them! I couldn't tell her that."

"Oh, hell. Well, come up with something!"

"Attorneys, Master Wayne," Alfred suggested calmly, folding his napkin. "An army of attorneys. That should be sufficient, I would think, to put our hostess' mind at ease."

Dick's head swiveled towards the butler. "Alfred, we would be so screwed without you."

"Oh, I've no doubt that one of you would have come up with either that or another equally appropriate reply before things became awkward. I think you're just flustered because there's cake on the way. The prospect of dessert does tend to give you both a temporarily one track mind." He gave his younger charge a sharp look. "And please note, Master Dick, that I'm only allowing your borderline language just now to pass due to the fact that you embedded it in a compliment."

"…Does dessert really do that to us?" Bruce asked, his expression disturbed at the thought that he could be so easily distracted.

"It can't," the teen argued. "We've had cookies in the…" He paused, remembering where they were. "…Well, we eat a lot of cookies, and we've never had trouble thinking before."

"You've never been offered sweets in a situation such as this, though, have you?" the butler inquired.

"Not that I thought weren't laced with delicious death, no."

"Well, perhaps that's the difference then. Trust me, sirs, after all of the desserts I've served, I have a fairly astute understanding of _exactly_ what the prospect of chocolate cake does to the pair of you. Heaven forbid one of you believes the other has been given a larger piece."

"Note to self; no more dessert in the field," the billionaire muttered just as Margie returned, balancing four plates skillfully.

"Here, doll," she said with a maternal smile as she set the last piece in front of Dick. "I don't believe in skinny boys. You need a little meat on your bones, so I cut yours extra big." Ruffling his hair, she regained her seat and tucked into her serving, ignorant of what she had initiated.

Mindful of what Alfred had just said, the teen shot a gloating little smirk down the table at his glowering guardian and took a bite without breaking eye contact. _I'm totally going to have to pay for this later, _he thought as the cake all but melted in his mouth, _but it is so worth it to see that jealous look on his face._


	20. Chapter 20

"Margie," Dick asked as they were preparing to leave. "Do you know where the police are looking for Gina?"

"I told them they needed to check Hawthorne Island. That place is riddled with caves. Back in my day all the kids used to go out there on dates, but it's been abandoned since the bridge washed out. It would be the perfect place for somebody to hole up and hide from the law," she spat, "but they said they had their own list of places, drawn up by _experts_. 'Oh, don't you worry, Mrs. Gallagher,' Clara – she's probably the one who interviewed you, honey, they figure she's the department's people person – told me. 'We'll find her before too much longer.' I asked her how she was gonna do that if they didn't check Hawthorne Island, and you better believe she didn't have anything more to say. I wanted Marty to take me out there to look for myself, but he refused. He said it was too dangerous. I swear, the fear's got its claws into my own husband now…" She shook her head, on the verge of crying again. "And he's late coming home, too. Probably mad at me for arguing with him about it this morning."

Dick couldn't stand it. They were only a couple of feet apart in the entryway, so it didn't take much effort for him to lean over and hug her. He regretted the decision as her arms practically squeezed the life out of him, but when she finally released him she looked as if she felt a little better. "Thank you, baby doll," she smiled through her tears. Her face hardened as she looked over his head to Bruce. "You better take damn good care of this boy," she said, her voice hard. "He's an absolute sweetheart, and you will deserve every torture you receive in hell if you let any harm come to him."

There was a second of stunned silence. "I assure you, I have no intentions of letting anything happen to him," he managed finally. "I'll have my lawyers contact you regarding the drilling."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Wayne," she breathed, her face relaxing. "And I'm sorry, I'm not usually so blunt, I just…with Gina…" Reaching out, she cupped Dick's chin for a moment. "Well, people can leave you so fast, that's all."

"…Good night, Mrs. Gallagher," Bruce bid her adieu a little coldly, then stepped outside.

"Madam," Alfred inclined his head slightly to her. "Thank you for the lovely meal, and for your marinade recipe. I assure you it will be put to good use." With that, he followed his employer, sending Dick a look that the teen knew meant he wasn't to tarry much longer.

"Don't mind Bruce," he said when they were alone. "He's just…Bruce."

"Is he good to you, honey? Is he really? He seems kind of distant, even in person."

"…He's not like that with me," he confessed, touched by the very real concern that shone in her eyes. "It's like I said before; he's a great father. I'm…I'm really lucky to have him."

"Well, okay," she let it drop. "Thank you. You said he might be able to help, and it sounds like he will. I owe you for that. If they would just find Gina, I might be able to have a little hope that this will come out right in the end."

"She'll be okay," he insisted. _I hope._

"I wish I had your confidence," she said sadly, then bent down and kissed him on the cheek, in the exact spot that Gina had. "You keep yourself safe," she whispered before she pulled away.

"If I don't, Bruce will," he promised, opening the door. "Bye, Margie."

"Bye bye, doll."

He ran to the car and climbed in. "Okay, that was _way_ more than I ever thought we'd get from her." His excitement waned as he realized his mentor didn't seem too thrilled despite their discoveries. "…Bruce?" He crossed his arms. "This isn't about the cake, is it? I mean, seriously, dude. It was just cake."

The man caught Alfred's warning look in the rearview and took a deep breath, forcing himself to stop thinking about Margie's admonishment. "Lay it all out for me, Dick. I know you had an epiphany in there, I want to hear it."

"Okay," he agreed. _Something's wrong, I know it is. Well, I'll drag it out of you later. Right now we need to find Gina._ "Alfred, we should go somewhere to change. We're going to need to be in costume for the rest of the night, I think."

"…No objections, Master Wayne?" the butler asked as he started the car.

"No. It'll be dark enough to try the Harbormaster's by the time we find a spot and get ready. I assume that's our next stop?" he directed towards his partner.

"…I kind of thought we'd just go straight for Gina, to be honest," he said. "I mean, Hawthorne Island sounds like the kind of place you would take someone you'd kidnapped, doesn't it?"

"I don't know," Bruce replied. "It depends on _why_ you kidnapped them."

"…Oh. That's a good point. Why _did_ they kidnap her?"

"First things first. Tell me what you were thinking about over dinner. Let's start at the beginning."

"Well, here's how I see it. Bryant knew about the oil, but didn't want to sell his land or make a big thing out of it. When Lise was unhappy, he told her about it, hoping he could get her to stay. Maybe he even promised to sell the land so she could have the life she wanted and he could have her; I don't know. That part doesn't really matter. What _does_ matter is that it makes sense for him to have told her about it. She, in turn, tells Dunaway. Dunaway's not stupid, so checks it out and finds out that Bryant's not making it up. I'll bet he found out that Bryant was right, too, and that the only cost effective way of getting to the oil was to go in through his land.

"Now, he must have realized all of this about the oil _after_ Lise had already signed away her rights to Gina, or I'm sure they would have used that as leverage. From what Margie said, there's been interest in the offshore fields, and in Bryant's land, for a long time now. If we assume that it was someone working for Dunaway who's been approaching Bryant every year - which I think we can, since so far as we can tell no one else knows about the oil under the cliffs – it's probably a safe bet that Savant has been the main player in trying to get those offshore leases opened up. Once LACPOD started up, they had an ally, and the local support would have done a lot for them in the legislature. Once he had the offshore leases locked down for Savant, the last piece Dunaway needed was Bryant's land.

"But Bryant still didn't want to sell. What's more, he was actively fighting the development rights that Savant had been granted. My guess is that the deal Lise mentioned in her letter to Bryant was a mixture of a lot of money and a threat to pursue custody of Gina if he didn't agree to sell. She said Dunaway is an impatient man; I doubt he would have wanted to wait through a custody battle, especially given how close he already is to having everything he needs. If there really _is_ a problem with the relinquishment that Lise signed, then the courts could easily assign custody of Gina to her, once Bryant was dead. Anyone assigned to hold Bryant's land in trust for Gina who wasn't Margie or her husband would be much easier to convince or coerce into selling it to Savant on her behalf than Bryant was." He wound down. "I don't know who pulled the trigger, but I'll bet they were paid by Dunaway. He's the one with the most to gain, it seems. Oh, and we can definitely write off the idea of the guys having come from the long term slip next to Bryant; remember the name on it? Marty Gallagher. Margie's husband. I seriously doubt he had anything to do with it." There was silence when he finished, and Dick wondered if he'd skipped a step. "Bruce? Did I forget something?" he asked quietly when the man kept his face turned to the window.

"No," he shook his head, forcing back the tears of pride that were clouding his vision. "No, you didn't forget anything. You put it together very well." He turned, and the teen could see the remnant dewiness in his eyes. "There's a lot of conjecture in your argument that I'd normally want to verify before making our next move, but that's not an option given the time restraints we're under. What you said makes sense."

"Thanks," he beamed back. "But it leaves us with a big question still; _why_ kidnap Gina? If she was likely to be given to Lise anyway, why involve her at all? It doesn't make sense."

"I don't know. I think knowing whose boat the men came off of will help shed some light on that, though."

"I guess," he shrugged half-heartedly. "I don't know, Bruce. I mean, don't get me wrong, I want to know _why_ she was taken, and what their game plan was, but I'm way more concerned about getting Gina back safe."

"I want to find her too, Dick. But that's not my first priority. You are. As such, I don't want us to go running off to an island neither of us have ever even seen before with no idea who we might run into or what they might be armed with. At least this way we might be able to find out if we're more likely to encounter locals or hired killers."

"What, do you think you're going to find their weapons inventory at the Harbormaster's office?" the boy retorted, crossing his arms. "C'mon, Bruce. Short of finding out that they came off of a boat registered to the President of the United States, is it really going to change anything? We're still going to have to go to the island, and if Margie's right and that's where they're holding her, the same people are going to be manning it whether we know who rented the slip or not. Besides, we've taken down everything from untrained goons to former special ops agents, so it's not like we're unprepared."

"…I understand what you're saying, but we're still going to the Harbormaster's first. Call it a hunch I want to follow through," he added when his partner made an exasperated noise. "Besides, the Harbormaster's office may have maps of Hawthorne Island. It would be helpful to know in advance where the caves and other landmarks are so that we can make plans before we get there."

Dick had to agree with the last part. "…Okay," he agreed. "A map would be helpful. I can go along with that."

"Good."

"Not like you were going to give me a choice anyway."

"No. I wasn't." The teen laughed, and Bruce's eyebrows drew together. "What?"

"I love you, but you're stubborn to the point of insanity sometimes. I hope you know that."

"It's served me well. Why mess with a winning formula?"

"'A winning formula?'" he repeated, smiling at the subtext. "Is that what we are?"

Bruce's mouth curved upwards to match his son's. "In more ways than one, kiddo."


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note: Happy two-fer Tuesday, lovely readers!**

"It's tricky," Bruce whispered as they crouched close together in a shadowy passageway across the street from the Harbormaster's office.

_It's wide open,_ Dick moaned to himself, studying the building that stood surrounded by public parking for the marina. During the day there would have at least been cars to crouch between, but after dark on a Sunday evening the lot was mostly empty. The town's budget crisis had not yet, it seemed, extended to shutting off parking lot lights, adding to the difficulty of reaching their destination undetected. "I can probably manage it easier than you can," he breathed back. "I'm smaller, so I'm less likely to be seen, and if someone _does_ see me I have a better chance of getting away without having to punch anybody who's just trying to be a good citizen."

"Mm. Give me a minute to think."

Holding back a sigh, the teen's eyes wandered towards the marina, where just over twenty four hours ago he had watched a good man be killed. _I'm so sorry, Bryant. _He still felt guilty for not doing something to save him, but at least he was trying to help the people he'd left behind.

He shifted slightly, ignoring the glare Bruce aimed back at him as he tried to fan a little air under his heavy sweater. Alfred had found them a deserted gravel overlook within walking distance of town to change in, and he'd tried again to get away with not wearing it, but the butler had pointed to the line of dark clouds blotting out the stars on the horizon and insisted that it would be needed before the night was through. When Bruce had jumped into the debate and stated that he didn't want it to be obvious that they were armored, Dick had known he was defeated. Now, though, he was wishing he'd fought harder. _I'll probably have freaking heat exhaustion if I have to run far in this thing. Ugh._

"Okay." Bruce's low voice interrupted his thoughts. "I want you to see if there's a back door. If there is, try to pick that. No point in picking the street side if we can avoid it. Radio when you're done, and I'll join you."

"Gotcha." Sneaking forward until he balanced just on the edge of the light that bathed the sidewalk, he looked both ways cautiously. _No vehicles; no pedestrians._ The shops along the street were all closed, he knew; Alfred had driven along the street once they were in position and relayed as much to them. _Go._

He sprinted, keeping his head tucked so that if he was somehow spotted it would be difficult to tell that he was masked. _Just a crazy kid out running. Nothing to see here,_ he thought as he rounded the back of the building and pressed his back against the wall. Taking stock of the layout, he slipped several steps to the right and curled himself into the black corner where a short staircase led up to the rear entrance. A stiff wind blew in off the water, sending a few pieces of garbage skittering past. Nothing else moved, and after sixty seconds the teen vaulted himself silently onto the top step and slipped a pick from his belt.

It was a simple residential knob and dead bolt, and both gave quickly under his experienced maneuvers. He slipped inside, keeping the knob turned so that the door would shut without a sound. It was a small building, and someone had been kind enough to pull all the blinds and forget to turn off a desk lamp in the main room. The office in one corner that Dick assumed belonged to whoever it was that actually bore the title of Harbormaster was locked, but no light shone around the entrance and the only sound from inside was the clicking of a ceiling fan. "Premises clear," he whispered after a glance into the bathroom. "Back's open."

"Pinned. Dog walkers."

_Fine. I'll start without him. _"Proceeding," he informed him, straightening.

"Affirmative."

A huge grid of cubbies covered the back wall of the main room, and he gravitated towards it automatically. Each square was labeled with a unique letter and number, starting with A1 at the top left, and every slot held at least one cardboard tube. _So these must correspond to a particular map… _ He circled the room, searching, but none of the framed cartographs bore marks that matched those on the shelves. _Damn. Maybe it's in the back._ He turned away with the intention of searching the locked office, then whipped around again as something flashed at the edge of his vision. _Ah ha,_ he grinned towards the battered beige contraption hanging from the ceiling. _Spring-roller system. Nice._

Snagging a chair, he climbed up and began pulling down on the handles, revealing four charts before he found the one he wanted. _Okay, now I've just got to find Hawthorne Island…_ He peered at the small type in the semi-darkness, straining his eyes. _This thing covers a lot of area,_ he realized. _The island might not even be labeled, depending on how big it is. All I know is that it's close enough to land that there used to be a bridge._ Frowning, he dug a small plastic magnifying glass out of his belt and began to scour the areas near shore.

"Find anything?" Bruce's voice sounded in his ear without warning. Dick jumped away in surprise, teeth digging into his lip as he held back the startled cry that ached to escape him. His hands came up, prepared to fight, before he realized who had snuck up on him.

"Not cool!" he hissed. "You could have radioed to say you were coming in!"

"I thought you heard me," the man shrugged.

"No one ever hears you," the boy muttered, scowling uncharacteristically as he wiped at his mouth and returned to his search.

"…You do sometimes," the masked billionaire countered, frowning. _You're the only one who manages it regularly, in fact._ "Having trouble?"

"Help me find this stupid island, would you?"

Grabbing his own magnifier, he began at the edge opposite where Dick was looking and worked his way along slowly. _Mm. There are several outcroppings that don't have names. This might take longer than I thought. I hope the designation Margie gave us is the official name, not just a local one._

"Found it!" came a pleased whisper on the heels of his concern. "E5." Pulling down on the chart, he let it roll slowly back up, then froze on his tiptoes. "Uh…nameless compadre? Assistance?"

Bruce bit back a laugh as he realized that the teen was too short to finish guiding the map back up without letting go of it and risking excessive noise from the weighted bottom hitting the metal case. He took the handle from him, finishing the job while his partner pulled out the single tube in the section of wall bearing the proper label.

"Cool. There's one in here that's nothing but Hawthorne Island. Margie wasn't kidding, this place must have been popular back in the day." As he spoke he spread a chart open on the counter. "Wow. She wasn't joking about the caves, either."

_It's going to take all night if we have to search the whole island,_ Bruce thought.

Glancing over to ask how his partner wanted to tackle that particular problem, he noticed that the teen was sucking on his lower lip. "What are you doing? You're going to wipe all the makeup off." Alfred, ever the details man, had produced the materials to expertly cover the scar above the teen's chin, pointing out that if they did find Gina it would be a dead giveaway as to who was behind the mask. Reminded that there were additional elements to his costume this evening, Dick immediately released the flesh he'd been worrying.

"It was bleeding, I was just trying to keep it from going everywhere."

"…You bit through it again," the billionaire said slowly. "When I startled you? Is that when you did it?"

He didn't meet his mentor's eyes. "I didn't bite _through_ it," he insisted. "I just…nicked it. It's fine." _Please stop looking guilty. Please?_ "Did I really mess up the makeup?"

"…I don't think so. It looks all right," he deemed after examining him in the low light. _I thought you knew I was here,_ he lamented. _I wasn't trying to scare you._

"Okay. Good. Look, I think that depending on what we find when we get to the island the best way to search is going to be to split up." His finger traced along the lines marked _West Point Bridge – washed out_. "They won't be on the beach, that would be too obvious, especially since there's a shipping lane the runs pretty close by. There are several places on here, though, that look like they'd make good hiding spots. I'll take the high road and check out this forested area near the middle of the island and the old lighthouse. You should take the caves. It'll make you feel more at home," he elbowed him teasingly. "What do you think?"

"I don't like the idea of splitting up, but I don't think we have a choice if we want to find her before dawn."

"That was my thought."

"Let's keep that as our tentative plan for now. I reserve the right to change it depending on what we find when we get out there."

"Deal. How are we going to get onto the island?"

Bruce's fingers went to the grappling gun at his waist. "The channel between the mainland and island is only about fifty yards wide total," he pointed out. "If any of the bridge infrastructure is still there, which this map seems to be indicating it is, we should be able to swing across with no problem. We can climb down to the water and go from there."

"What's that, you say? An excuse to fly? I'm in."

"All right." He rolled the chart back up to put it away, then paused as he found Dick still staring at it. "…Was there something else?"

"No," he shook his head. He'd zoned out for a second, trying to decide where they would find the girl. _If she's even __on__ the island,_ he taunted himself. _What if Margie's wrong? You could be wasting your last chance to find her searching the wrong place._ "Hey, Br- unmonikered man," he covered quickly. "…She'll be there, won't she?"

He smiled sadly, the yearning worry in his son's eyes making his stomach twist. "I hope so. The only way to know is to check."

"…I just wish we _knew_, you know?"

"I know," he sighed back. "Come on. Let's check on those temporary slips," he diverted the topic, sliding the tube back into its space on the wall. "Unless you already did it before I got here?"

"No, I got distracted by the map." They searched the front desk and quickly found a binder entitled 'Daily Slip Rentals.' "This is it," Dick said, his voice growing eager again as he flipped through it. "A45, A45…Vacant. A46…Vacant." He flipped through the records on the rest of the slips they'd been unable to determine from the Harbormaster's computer, only finding a few names. Reaching the month's rental history for the spot at the very end of the dock, he went still, his eyes wide. "Hoooooly shit."

"Watch it," Bruce warned mildly, coming over from where he'd been examining a forecast from the Weather Service. _Alfred was right; there's a pretty nasty storm heading this way. Great, just what we need._ "What is it?" he asked, dropping a gloved hand onto his shoulder and squinting down at the paperwork. _Why did they have to write it in __pencil__? You can't read pencil in the dark._

Dick pointed out what had grabbed his attention. "Matthew Graves. He rented the slip at the end of the dock, just for Friday. He doesn't even have a _boat_." His eyes slid down the page. "…But Jack Dunaway does," he added, tapping the register. "A 40 foot yacht called the _Irish Mogul_." He raised his head to meet Bruce's eyes. "They came off of Dunaway's boat, out of a spot rented by Matt. He…he helped kill his own brother."

The billionaire sighed, squeezing his shoulder tightly. "Well," he said lamely, "I guess holy shit about sums it up."


	22. Chapter 22

They snuck out of town on foot, slipping into the trees along the outskirts and making their way up the hill to the overlook where Alfred was waiting with the car. Dick, still exhausted from the combination of fishing and a lack of nightmare-free sleep, wished that they could have been picked up. _I get that we don't want anyone to see the car more than absolutely necessary tonight – having Alfred drive around and check the shops was risky enough - but I'm so freaking tired._ The teen had never fully appreciated the perks that came with being a known entity on the streets of Gotham until now. As for the Batmobile, he was planning on giving it a grateful pat when he saw it. _I won't even complain the next time Bruce makes me wash it,_ he swore.

"…Bad news, sirs?" Alfred asked, glimpsing their faces as they climbed into the vehicle.

"The plot thickens," Dick said wryly.

"Matt's involved," Bruce clarified.

"…Ah. It's always a shame when family turn on one another," he opined, shaking his head as he started the car. "Where to, then?"

Bruce gave him rough directions to Hawthorne Island based on the map they'd studied in the Harbormaster's, settling back in his seat as they pulled onto the road. He was about to ask Dick how he was liking the armor when he saw his expression. "You look thoughtful," he commented, his tone inviting an explanation.

"_Why_ would Matt do it?" his partner pondered. "Bryant took him in when he lost everything. He gave him a place to live and a job to help him get back on his feet. How could he turn on him like that?"

"I wouldn't be surprised to find out it's for exactly the reason you just said," the billionaire answered. "He'd lost everything to a combination of bad fishing runs and possibly poor business management. Bryant had lost nothing. He still had Gina, he still had a boat and a house, and he still had a lake of oil that no one was likely to get to without his land."

"…Jealousy? Really?"

"It's a very powerful emotion," he said, thinking about the resentment that had surged through him when he'd seen the easy, personable way Bryant had interacted with Dick. "Haven't you ever been envious of someone?"

"Well sure, but not to the point where I wanted to hurt them. I mean, I've been that _mad_ at a few people, but I definitely wasn't jealous of them."

"Try to think of it in terms of anger, then. Matt was so mad that Bryant had everything and he had nothing that he helped orchestrate his murder." He shifted in his seat to look at the boy. "Jealousy is often the primary driver behind brothers killing each other. You should know all about fratricide; I've assigned you plenty of reading about motive and cause in the past, and we've seen instances of intra-familial murder in the field."

"...You did, and we have. It's not that I haven't been paying attention, it's just…" He fidgeted, clearly becoming agitated. "I understand why people do it, on the theoretical level. I just don't get _how _they do it. How do their brains decide that murder is the only or best course open to them? How do they stop looking at their family as _family_ and start seeing them as enemies or, worse still, opportunities? It makes a little more sense when the person they turn on is involved in something awful, but if Bryant was he did an amazing job of hiding it from everyone. I'd feel pretty safe betting that he was just a guy trying to make a decent living and raise his kid without selling out what he believed in. I try to put myself in Matt's shoes, to find a reason why he would want him dead, and I can't do it."

"Dick…" Bruce started, then trailed off. "That's a good thing," he said finally.

"Sure, it's good in that it might keep me from turning into someone like that. But how am I supposed to predict people like Matt if I can't figure out how to watch the world through their eyes? How can I get into their heads without losing my own?" His eyes held a familiar inquisitive look – what Bruce privately thought of as his 'teach me' stare – as they met those of his mentor.

"You're putting too much thought into it," the billionaire told him, shaking his head. "It's hard enough to predict the next move of a criminal you have an extensive history with, let alone one you've never encountered before. Sure, a skilled observer – which you are, by the way – can generally categorize people pretty quickly and accurately, and have a basic notion of how they're likely to react in a given situation. That ability is hardwired into us; it's one of the most fundamental tools of human society. Sometimes, though, there are just too many factors to consider, like with this case, or you're up against a sociopath. You'll probably never _really_ understand how a traitorous mind comes to the conclusions that it does, because _you _are an incredibly loyal person. Your brains literally do not work the same when it comes to creating and maintaining social bonds. But that doesn't mean that you can't track, fight, and even sometimes predict your opposites successfully. You're already way ahead of the curve when it comes to deciphering criminal mentalities; don't beat yourself up just because one type is more difficult for you than another. It's a challenge, not a failure."

"…Thanks," he said softly when the man's words had had a few moments to process. "I think that helped."

"Good. I'm glad." _I'm also glad you come to me with these quandaries. It's important._ _I just wish I could manage to tell you as much._

"If I may interrupt," Alfred spoke, pulling the car to the side of the road and turning the lights off. "I believe this is the furthest we dare take the vehicle without risking detection."

"How far are we from the bridge?" Bruce asked.

"Roughly a half mile, Master Wayne, at least according to the sign we just passed. I can continue driving, if you would like."

"No, this is close enough. No point in pushing our luck." He glanced at his partner.

"I will wait here with the car unless instructed otherwise. Good luck, sirs."

"Thanks. Ready?"

"Yup," Dick agreed. Excitement and adrenaline were beginning to overpower the remnant ache in his muscles, and he had to remind himself that they had a long walk before they were likely to encounter any of the people they were looking for. _Save those energy bursts,_ he coached himself as he slid over to Bruce's side of the car to get out so that only one door would have to be closed. He followed the taller figure into the shadows at the edge of the trees and settled easily into the pace he set.

The pavement wound around a curve before dropping steeply towards the water. There was no moon, and fewer stars peeked down by the minute as clouds flooded landward. By the time Bruce called a halt on top of the last rise before the bridge, Dick was panting. _This armor is freaking __heavy__,_ he moaned to himself. _And I'm dying in this sweater. I'll be lucky if I don't end the night dehydrated._ Watching as his partner studied the island with night-vision binoculars, he tried desperately to cool down.

"…You okay?" came close against his ear.

"It's just hot in all these layers," he whispered back. "I'm fine. Give me one more second."

Frowning, he handed over the binoculars and gestured for the boy to examine their destination. _There's the bridge,_ he determined as he raised them to his eyes. _Well, what's left of it. _The road snaked across the island, seeming to end at the base of the lighthouse that crowned the highest point. _So maybe another half mile from here to there,_ he calculated. _Ugh, I'll be totally dripping with sweat by the time I walk that far in this getup. I miss my Robin costume. _

"…What's wrong?"

"Huh? Nothing."

"You were pouting."

_Oops. I didn't realize I missed it __that__ much._ "Don't worry about it." He returned the glasses. "Ready when you are."

"Sure? We can wait another minute."

"I'm fine." _If you can run around all the time in full body armor, I can manage one night in a vest,_ he decided as they moved down the last incline. The bridge rose above them as they snuck down towards the water, its broken silhouette lending the shoreline a post-apocalyptic air. _This looks like the kind of place people would hole up in to hold off zombies in a movie,_ Dick couldn't help but think.

Halfway between the roadbed and the beginning of the ocean, Bruce stopped. "We're crossing now," he said into the radio, wanting to keep Alfred apprised of their progress. There was no need to worry about anyone on the island overhearing the transmission; even if they happened to be on the correct frequency, which was unlikely since the signal ran on a non-civilian band, everything was encoded to sound like static until it was heard through the proper receiver. "Good?" he asked his partner.

"Let's do this," he answered, letting the go-chemicals he'd been trying to hold back since the car flood his veins. _We're coming, Gina. I hope they didn't hurt you. If they did…well. They just better not have._ Setting his mouth, he fired his grapple and swung across the water, Bruce right behind him.


	23. Chapter 23

"Where are you heading?" Bruce asked once they stood on the island.

"I'll work my way toward the lighthouse, and search that when I get there. I'll radio you if I find anything."

"Check in even if you don't," the billionaire instructed. _Let me know you're safe._

"I'll start on the caves, like we talked about."

"Sounds good." The man began to turn away, but Dick stopped him. "Hey."

"What?"

"We never came up with names."

"…It's a little late for that now, don't you think?"

"I guess so," he shrugged. _Might be convenient if we need to warn each other about something. Then again, we're splitting up, so what are the odds of that happening?_ "See you later." With that, he started up the bank.

_I should have just gone with the name he came up with before. What was it, 'the Don,' or something like that? It wasn't very good, but it would have made him happy. _He watched as he climbed until he was even with the road, peeked carefully over the top, and then rolled out of sight. As soon as he had disappeared, an uncomfortable feeling of dread settled into Bruce's stomach. It wasn't unfamiliar – he dealt with it every time he and the boy were separated on a mission – but it wasn't welcome, either. The fact that his son was more than capable of handling himself in battle did nothing to alleviate his concern. _No matter how excellent of a fighter he is, he could still get taken by surprise,_ his brain reminded him. _I'm__ even caught off guard occasionally. Not very often, but sometimes. If I can get into trouble like that, so can he. And I'll be too far away to do anything about it if they're serious about hurting him._

He shook the thoughts off angrily. _We had no choice. The cave systems make the island too big to search effectively in one night if we stick together. It has to be this way. He'll be fine; he knows what we're dealing with. And at least he's wearing armor tonight._ Forcing himself not to think about all of the lethal areas that weren't covered by the teen's vest, he stalked off along the shore, heading for the closest cave entrance he recalled seeing on the map.

Completely unaware of the fears flying through his guardian's head, Dick paused a few steps away from where the bridge met land and listened intently to the island. A stiff wind whistled through the trees, mingling with the incoming waves to make picking out detailed sounds like someone sneaking through the nearby brush impossible. Resigning himself to the fact that his ears weren't likely to be of much help to him so long as he was outside, he picked his way along the overgrown macadam, eyes roaming the black brush and the road ahead. _I didn't see anyone moving around out here through the binoculars, but that doesn't mean anything._ Reaching up to touch his mask, he wondered how difficult it would be to install night-vision lenses in the eye holes. _The mask would have to be made stiffer in those areas to help prevent damage from the lenses getting pushed back during a fight, but it might work. It would be better than having to hold binoculars up every time you want to see something in the dark, at least. And it would look really cool. _He carefully stored the idea away to bring up to Bruce later.

Five minutes after he started out, water began to fall from the sky. _Oh, great, now I'll be hot __and__ wet. _Hoping the forest canopy might offer some protection, he pulled back into the trees and continued to parallel the road. His paranoia grew as time passed and he sensed he was drawing closer to the lighthouse. When he topped a gentle rise and peered through the now slanting rain at the structure, his heart sank. _It doesn't look like anyone has been there in years,_ he lamented. _I hope Bruce is having better luck in the caves._

"Hey. Anonymous sentinel," he whispered into his radio. "Any luck?"

"Nothing," came back, a slight crackle interrupting the word. "You?"

"Nada. Place looks abandoned. I'm going to check inside, though."

"…Watch your back."

"You, too. Out." Crouching, he was about to make his way across the unkempt grass surrounding the beacon when a flash of light appeared. Keeping back, he watched with narrowed eyes, waiting for it to reappear. _The lighthouse is out of service. There's no way that was a boat out to sea, it was too close and bright._ _It looked more like a flashlight than anything…_

Sure enough, the orb reappeared a minute later and moved towards the tower. He couldn't make out the details of the person holding the light, but their gait seemed familiar. _I wish I'd asked Bruce for the binoculars,_ he kicked himself. _It's not like it's that much darker down in the caves than it is up here with no moon or stars._ He had inquired once, a couple of years earlier, why he didn't have his own pair, and had been informed that he would except that he didn't have anywhere to keep them on his person. Batman's were stored in a particular compartment on his belt, but Robin's much smaller waist didn't allow room to accommodate night vision goggles along with his more essential gear. He'd frowned so hard upon hearing that he was essentially too little for one of the cool toys that Bruce had pulled him close and promised that it wouldn't be the case forever, and that as soon as he had grown to the point where there was space for them he would get his very own set. They were together most of the time anyway, so the lack of equipment wasn't _usually_ an issue. Tonight was an exception.

The door opened before the figure drew up to it, revealing someone wielding a large weapon. _Shotgun,_ Dick decided. _So I wonder if there are locals guarding Gina? I would expect something along the lines of an SMG from professionals. Maybe Dunaway didn't want to risk getting caught with something like that on his bank record, though._ The new arrival was allowed to pass inside, and the rectangle of light disappeared. _Where did they even come from?_ he wondered. Curious, and wanting to know if any other reinforcements had arrived, he circled the lighthouse until he was near where he had first seen the flashlight beam. He minced his way to the very edge of the high cliff that made up this end of the island and found a set of rickety wooden stairs switchbacking down into the blackness.

_Well, crud,_ he thought plaintively, looking between the lighthouse and the stairs, uncertain which he wanted to tackle first. _I guess I'll find out how he got here, and then follow him. At least then I'll have an idea of how he might be planning to leave later on, in case I need to head him off or something._ The further he ventured down the loose and untrustworthy planks, the happier he was to be wearing the sweater both Bruce and Alfred had insisted on; the spray blowing in off of the water was cold despite the fact that it was July, and the wind made it worse still. By the time he reached the narrow gravel strand at the bottom and found a trim little launch pulled up onto shore, he was soaked through. _I don't think he's leaving in this. Not tonight, anyway,_ he added, looking out at the rough waters stirred up by the storm. _It would be suicidal to go out there in this thing, even for an expert._

His teeth were threatening to chatter when he regained the top of the cliff. _Time to get inside._ _The bottom is manned, so I'd rather not go in that way if it can be avoided. Especially after seeing that shotgun. _With that in mind he circled the tower, hoping to find a broken storm pane in the upper level. After straining his eyes uselessly upwards for several minutes without so much as being able to clearly make out the windows, he sighed, glanced around to make sure he was still alone, and fired his grapple into the railing around the lantern room. Tugging hard to make sure the neglected metalwork would hold his weight, he retracted the line and rode skyward.

Shards of glass crunched under his feet as he flipped onto the platform. Mindful of the fact that he wasn't wearing his uniform boots, the soles of which were puncture proof, he moved around the tower, looking for an opening. On the far side he found a section where both of the thick panes had shattered, and was finally able to step out of the elements.

Once he was in, he crouched and froze, listening. The only sound was the storm. _Okay. Now to just work my way down and see what's going on._ The layer of dust and debris on the floor was a nightmare to navigate with any degree of stealth, but plenty of long patrols enduring glares from Batman every time he so much as took too deep of a breath had made him an expert in silence. On the far side of the lantern assembly – which he took just a second to admire, rationalizing his delay with the excuse that he'd never been inside a lighthouse before and _damn_ was it awesome – he found the trapdoor wide open, seemingly rusted in place from years of direct exposure to the salt air.

A concerning glimmer of light leached up the spiral stairwell. He tensed, ready to beat a hasty retreat if it grew brighter, but there was no need. It stayed steady, and after a couple of minutes he started down, his back tight against the interior wall, footfalls soundless on the metal risers. As he descended, the rage of the storm faded, leaving his ears ringing slightly but allowing him to pick up the notes of conversation below. _How are most lighthouses laid out?_ he thought, trying to remember. Pouring through the library of trivia and schematics that Bruce had been pounding into his head since the day he'd shown an interest in night work, he realized that he knew next to nothing about coastal beacons. Despite the fact that his mentor pursued the Renaissance man ideal and expected him to do the same, lighthouses had never come up in his studies. _Why should they have?_ he logicked. _Gotham isn't exactly flush with them, and I've certainly never infiltrated one before now. I don't think he has, either._ Nevertheless, he made a mental note to study them intently once he was home. _Maybe I'll just sit down and flip through that huge encyclopedia set Bruce has in his study, see if there are any other structures that I have no idea about but might have to sneak around in someday. _

He dared a few more steps downwards and spied the beginnings of a large room. If he had mapped the staircase correctly in his head, the door he could just see the edge of was the one that had admitted whoever had come from the beached boat. Listening to the now fully audible discussion, he realized that the only two people he'd seen on the island thus far besides himself and Bruce were standing mere feet from him, chatting amiably about the approach of the peak hurricane season. _So the guy who answered the door __is__ a local, it sounds like. If LACPOD is actively manning the island, who knows how many desperate people are wielding guns nearby._ He swallowed, suddenly wishing he had checked in with Bruce again. He seriously considered going back up to the lantern room in order to let him know what he'd learned and put him on his guard, but beforehe could do so one of the men talking made a sneering comment, and the gait he'd thought seemed familiar earlier clicked in his head.

_That's __Matt__ out there talking,_ he realized. _I wonder if he actually got hit on the dock the other night, or if he was just faking it. _He wished now that he had checked the man himself before going to tell Bruce and Alfred about the captain's death. _I know he was in on Bryant's murder, but why is he __here__? That's just foolish, especially since Dunaway seems to be the one holding Gina hostage…_

A third voice came into the room. "Hey. Which of you is Graves?" _So there are outsiders here, too,_ Dick processed.

"I am," he heard him say gruffly.

"She'll see you now."

Dread crept into his stomach. _Oh, god, what if he's after her? Not jealousy, but lust? This had better __not__ be like that. I swear, if he touches her, I'll do to him what Batman did to Erwin. _He took several slow, deep breaths, trying to rein in his ire. _I don't know that yet. He might be here for some completely different reason,_ he told himself. There was no point in flying off the handle and doing something stupid, potentially getting himself caught or killed, until he knew for sure what Matt's motivation tonight was. _Then__ I'll pulverize him, the back-stabbing bastard._ Turning his attention back to the activity in the room, he heard the two locals saying their farewells.

"Don't work too hard, huh, Denny?"

"Heh, yeah. Just gonna pass the night with Betsy and a bottle."

"You shouldn't be drinking on watch," the new voice barked.

"You know something, fancypants? It's really great that you've got clothes and a gun that matches your buddies downstairs, but this is technically my jurisdiction. That means I enforce the rules, and if I want to not enforce the one that says I shouldn't be spending my shift with Mr. Jim Beam, well then I don't reckon you have much say in it, do you?"

There was an inarticulate grumble, followed by the sound of two sets of feet descending a ladder. _Wait…'my jurisdiction?' This guy is with the police? You have got to be kidding me! It's like the whole town was in on this!_

"Fuckin' city boy, playing kiss-ass to that rich broad so he can tell people he's a 'private security contractor' instead of a plain old cop." From the sound of the man's voice as he plopped into a chair, making it screech slightly against the stone floor, he'd already spent a fair amount of the evening in the company of a certain son of Kentucky. "Probably sitting down there playing poker with his buddies while I'm up here all by my lonesome, wondering what the hell I've become."

_All by your lonesome, did you say?_ the teen smirked in the dusky stairwell. _Allow me to introduce myself. I'm the pseudonymous wonder, and I'm here to kick your ass._

__**Author's Note: Before anyone asks, no, not everything I write involves child molestation. This story will be staying T, not jumping up to M the way Ache of Cowardice did midway through.**

**Also, my word processing program informs me that 'logicked' is not a word. However, if 'panicked' and 'magicked' are both words, I don't see why 'logicked' shouldn't also be one; it seems like a sensible enough term. In that spirit, I chose to use it despite the squiggly red line. To any dictionary editors who may happen to stumble across this story, I challenge you to make 'logicked' legitimate!**

**As always, thank you, and happy reading!**


	24. Chapter 24

It was such a simple takedown that he could have done it in his sleep.

His target's back was turned, and he was so occupied with tipping his mostly-empty bottle of liquor over his mouth that he probably wouldn't have noticed if the building started falling down around his ears. In three seconds Dick crossed the space between them and delivered a series of short, quick blows that left the man's muscles slack and his vocal chords partially paralyzed, reducing his voice to a pathetic whisper. He caught the heavy glass container deftly as it dropped from the drinker's hand, not wanting it to hit the floor and alert anyone. Glancing around, he noted the only ways in and out of the room – _stairs, front door, hatchway down, well that's easy enough – _before he bent to address his captive. "Hi," he whispered. "You don't know me, but you're going to answer my questions anyway. Understood?"

His victim just stared at him, lips moving soundlessly as his eyes bugged. _Probably thinks he's hallucinating, if he drank all of this by himself._ He set the whiskey on the table. "You can talk, it's just going to feel weird. Do you want a little more of this?" he asked, indicating the booze.

"Yeah," was muttered back. "Can't move."

"It'll wear off eventually," he explained as he tipped the man's head back and gave him a sip. "Before it does, you and I are going to have a little talk."

"Can't. They'll kill me."

"You're killing yourself, drinking like this," he rebutted. He bent in close. "I'm not your enemy. Talk to me. Help me understand, and maybe I can fix this before it gets any worse."

A wary but hopeful look crept into his eyes. "…Didn't want to do it, mister."

_Mister? Jeez, how old does this getup make me look?_ "What do you mean?"

"Bryant…the girl…none of us wanted to do it. We had to. It…it was our families on the line. The whole town's going down, and the oil…it's there. It can save us. Bryant was stubborn, had his own views. That was fine for a while – I respect a man who stands up for what he believes in, and Bryant Graves was a good man – but so many of us were starting to lose hope. The town's suicide rate more than tripled in the first year after the processors closed. I got so sick and tired of seeing people I'd grown up with, or worse, the kids of people I'd grown up with, killing themselves out of despair. It didn't get any better the next year. Hardly anyone could afford to move to a new place, to even try to start over. They just sank. We had to do something. We had to survive."

"Is that where LACPOD came in?" _At least he seems to be a talkative drunk._

"Yeah. It started small, but it sure got big fast. It doesn't take a genius to see how good we could have it if we just let them put a few rigs out on the water. Yeah, they're ugly, but I'd rather have a full belly in a slaughterhouse than starve to death in paradise, you know?"

"Where does Graves come in?" he asked, wanting to see how many of the specific details the average townsperson knew.

"He was opposed to it from day one. Even went up before the legislature a couple times to talk about how he was afraid the offshore drilling would hurt his business, and take away his daughter's heritage."

"And that was reason enough to kill him?" he pressured. "Savant got their leases months ago, Bryant shouldn't have mattered anymore. He was a tiny voice in the wilderness at best. So why kill him?" _I'm betting Margie was right, and this guy has no idea about the oil under the cliffs._

"I dunno. I thought we were done, too, soon as we heard the leases went through. But then at the next meeting those of us who were the most involved were told that it wasn't finished, that there was one more big thing we had to manage. We didn't know it was Bryant until it was too late, but I think we all had our suspicions. Who else could it be? He was the only leadership the opposition had after Bickard over at the paper was convinced to shut his trap and write some nice neutral stuff for the tourists."

"How did that happen?"

"Money, and the promise of more to come. That and threats, probably the same ones they used on me when I tried to back out. Someone with a lot of money and power says they can hurt the people you love, you believe 'em. You have to."

"You wanted the money, too, though."

"I did at first, sure. I've got three grandkids, and it hurt to see those babies have to go without Christmas presents last year. Between five adults we couldn't scrape up enough extra after bills to get them anything more than a few little secondhand things for their stockings; the last penny went to the electric company so we could at least light the tree for them. I've been policing in this town for thirty years, but after the pay cuts we had to take just to keep working, we weren't really living. Just surviving. I make too much to qualify for assistance, but if I quit and started relying entirely on the government we'd be in even worse shape than we are right now. Lots of people are facing the same problem, and there are plenty besides who're on assistance but haven't got any pride or self-esteem left because they've had to be on it for so long that they feel useless now. I tried to get out, I did, when I found out just how far Dunaway's willing to go, but…like I said. They're good at knowing what to say to a man to convince him to stay in."

"How much of the town is in on this?"

"There's a few still standing their ground against LACPOD, but Bryant was their last real leader. And there're a few folks who want nothing to do with it either way, and are just keeping out of it as much as they can. Most of us, though, are in, either because the oil development is the only way we can see to save our town or because the developers made it too much of a bad deal to not come to their side. That's what happened with Bickard. I guess it works pretty well when you arrange to have a man beaten for publishing his views and then offer his hungry family fifty thousand dollars and company stock so long as he quits raking you over the coals every Tuesday and Friday."

"But you're a police officer," Dick pushed. "You're supposed to answer to a higher code. What happened to that?"

"Why do you think I'm sitting here with a bottle of whiskey?" the man said miserably. "I told you, I tried to get out. I felt bad enough being involved when they were just making threats and bribing people, but murder? That's not what I signed up for." He tried to shake his head, remembered that he couldn't in his current state, and just gave his interviewer a pleading look instead. "You've got to understand, I hate this."

"What does the police chief think of it?"

His eyes closed. "I _am_ the chief. I don't feel like much of one lately, though. Telling my officers – the ones I've got left, in any case – not to investigate a murder any more than they absolutely have to to cover our asses, and to pretty much ignore anything that has Savant's fingerprints so much as near it? That's not what a good cop does. I was a good cop for a long time. I want to be a good cop again. But where's the line between good cop and bad citizen? A good cop would report all of this, would never have gotten involved with it, let alone have ordered his officers to follow along like sheep. But that would have made me a bad citizen, see? Because I would have been blocking Savant, and Savant is the only thing that can save this town. I never wanted things to turn out like this, but now that we're in, we can't go back. There are so many people counting on this development, and counting on me to do my part to help make it happen."

"There are people counting on you to uphold the law, too, though. What about them?"

"Honestly? I want to be on their side. I _am_ on their side, deep down. But…there's a lot more people who need this to work out than there are people who might be hurt by it. When I weigh it that way…oh, god, when I weigh it that way, I start to think maybe one life isn't so much to sacrifice for the good of the whole community." Tears streamed down his cheeks, and his wretched expression, paired with the helpless way he was slumped in his chair due to the nerve holds Dick had placed, made him the hallmark image of a broken man.

"What about Gina?" he asked roughly. "Where does she fit in all of this?"

"I don't know the details," the police chief admitted. "All I was told was that she would go missing for a while, but we weren't to look very hard for her. They promised she'd be returned safely, unharmed, as soon as possible."

"Do you really trust the promises of the people who killed Bryant Graves?"

"They haven't broken one yet," he said, his voice dropping. "Of either reward or consequences."

"Mm. So you don't know where she is?"

"Well sure, _I_ know. She's here, down below in the caves somewhere. I haven't seen her or anything – they don't want her to know anyone local is involved, I guess it would mess with their plan – but that's what I was told."

_She's here_,his brain rejoiced. _And they said they would keep her safe. Maybe she's okay._ _Maybe this will still work out._

"…Hey, mister?"

_Wow, that's actually kind of an annoying thing to be called by someone who's old enough to be your grandfather._ "Yeah?" he answered, trying to deepen his voice a little to sound more like the adult the drunken police chief apparently thought he was. _No point in letting him know I'm only fourteen. If he thinks I'm grown up it'll just help keep the spotlight off of us when this is all over._

"…I'm a bad person, ain't I?"

Dick was taken aback for a moment. _I don't know. I mean, yes, because you let Bryant be killed, on top of a bunch of other things from the sound of it, but also no, because like you explained, there wasn't really a choice. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place. The part you played wasn't __right__, but you aren't the puppeteer in all of this. Someone else is pulling your strings._ "I don't think you're a bad person," he said finally, walking back around behind the man. "I think you made some bad choices, but it doesn't sound like there were any really good ones on the table. You let a man die; you have to live with that. But telling me what you have will help Gina, and I know Bryant would have appreciated that you were willing to put yourself at risk to do that. So…for whatever that's worth to you…"

Without waiting to see if there would be a reply, he knocked him out, then leaned him forward onto the table and wrapped his fingers loosely around the nearly empty whiskey bottle. If anyone came into the room after he'd left, it would just look like the chief had drunk himself to sleep. Having covered his tracks, he crept to the trapdoor on the other side of the room and peeked down. _No guard at the bottom. Good._ The ladder went roughly twenty feet before reaching the cave floor; half of that distance was surrounded by solid rock. _There's no way to really check the passageway before I'm in it,_ he realized. Making a decision, he descended until his feet were just above where they would be visible from below, and stopped. _Only one way I can take anyone that __is__ down there by surprise_, he shrugged, resigned.

Reminding himself that it would be harder to tuck with the vest and sweater combo, he stepped off of the ladder and let himself fall.


	25. Chapter 25

The first cave Bruce explored was a complete bust, running some three hundred yards before it died out. _Damn_. _I thought this was one of the more promising looking ones on the map, too._ Retracing his steps back out to the thin trace of gravel that stood between the water and the low cliffs ringing the key, he headed for the next spot he remembered from the Harbormaster's chart. Staying alert for guards on the plateau above him or in boats offshore, he wondered how many of the caves intersected._ I'll have to be careful of that; I don't want to start at one end of the island and come out on the other without expecting to._

The second cave he explored went back further than the first, then turned a sharp corner. Stepping around it, Bruce grimaced; without even the very faint light from the entrance, his path was pitch dark. Given the odd angles that made up the walls, he didn't dare create light, as doing so would give him away to anyone up ahead. Pulling out the night vision binoculars for the second time that night, he detached the section that allowed the user to see in even the deepest blackness and held it to his eyes as he walked, cursing the fact that he'd never thought to make a headband for the apparatus. _First thing when we get home,_ he noted. _And Dick can probably manage to find room in his belt for something this small, too. I just wish he had space for the full binoculars. _

He had no sooner thought that than his son's voice came through his radio. "Hey. Anonymous sentinel. Any luck?"

'_Anonymous sentinel?'_ the man almost laughed. _You and your word games. _"Nothing," he answered, frowning when a slight crackle interrupted him. _Hmm. They don't usually do that. Then again, we don't use them underground much. Probably just interference from the storm and the rock. _"You?"

"Nada. Place looks abandoned. I'm going to check inside, though."

"…Watch your back," he warned, his lips pursing. _If they aren't in the caves, the lighthouse is the most likely place for them. I should have taken topside._

"You, too. Out." And with that, he was gone.

He continued along the dank corridor, hoping the voice would come through again soon with an all clear message. _I shouldn't be this jumpy about it,_ he thought. _I don't like being separated when we're in Gotham, but I'm never __this__ worried. _He knew the boy could handle himself; he knew it so well, in fact, that he had been giving serious thought to offering him an occasional solo mission, letting him work it for himself from the ground up. _The way he's been working this one, more or less,_ he realized ruefully.

But this wasn't Gotham. As dangerous as criminals like the Joker and Two-Face could be, they were at least somewhat known quantities, and more importantly they operated against a familiar backdrop. Batman and Robin had never worked a case outside of the city before now, and that, he realized suddenly, was the root of his concern. _Now, for instance. If he was to suddenly start screaming through the radio for help, where would I go? How would I get to him? The safest bet would be for me to backtrack out of this cave, return to the bridge, and follow the road to the lighthouse. That would take at least thirty minutes. In Gotham, I know all of the shortcuts through the city; we have the Batmobile waiting to come and get us, or ready to get us home at top speed. We have allies who know us and will respond in an instant. We're out of our element here, and that ramps up the risk enormously. _

Acknowledging the source of his unusually high tension helped ease it slightly. His pace through the cave picked up slightly, eventually bringing him to a fork. _Hmm. Interesting. _The right fork, he decided as he recalled what little he knew of the island's layout, would lead him towards the lighthouse, provided that it didn't veer off. _It's worth checking. They probably wouldn't want to hold the girl too close to shore, just in case she tried to escape or someone came looking. _

Fifteen minutes later he caught a glimpse of artificial light ahead. Reaching it, he found himself at a T, his path dead-ending into another. The presence of bulbs every ten feet allowed him to tuck his night vision lenses back into the pouch with the binoculars, pleased to have both hands free again. There was a definite slope to the floor of the new passageway, and he was about to follow his earlier instinct to stay inland and take the uphill route when he picked up the very faint sound of an engine from the other direction. _Well, that settles that, then, _he decided, turning towards it_. _The motor shut off almost as soon as he heard it, but he persisted. A few turns later, the corridor opened into a wide, well-lit cavern. Fortunately he realized what was happening before he walked into the open, and tucked himself into a crevice in the wall to listen.

"Look, she said not to touch the _girl_. She didn't say anything about people we found sneaking around." The wheedling voice came from just on the other side of the outcropping he had his back pressed against.

"She'll want him kept alive until she can talk to him. You know how she is."

Hearing the exchange, Bruce froze. _They've caught him. Damn it._

"Let's take him out in the boat and feed him to the sharks," the first voice said eagerly.

The masked man nearly leapt into the room at those words, only restraining himself when there was a cry from the captive. _That's not Dick,_ he registered, relieved. _Thank god._ He frowned. _But who else is running around this place at night, in the middle of a storm?_

"What's going on here?" The new voice carried a note of authority. "Who is this?"

"Some guy we found trying to sneak up from the cave entrance."

"How did he get here?"

"That green thing. I'm surprised it didn't sink when we tried to drive it in, it's ancient."

Dick's voice flashed through his head. '_Marty Gallagher has rented his slip for almost twenty years. That's the one right next to Bryant's. The green boat…'_ Of course. It all made sense. _Margie said her husband was late coming home this evening, and thought it was because he was mad at her for trying to get him to bring her out here to look for Gina. Instead, he came out here by himself to do that exact thing, and now they've got him. Christ, could this get any more complicated?_

"Well, take him up and put him with the girl. Boss lady will want to talk to him."

"…Why don't we ask her if she wants us to keep him?" the first voice suggested hesitantly. "I mean, if she doesn't want him, we could have some fun."

"_Fun?"_

"He wants to throw him to the sharks, sir."

"…Markowitz, you're a really fucked up person, you know that? You get orders to kill a person, you do it quick, you don't drag it out. Throwing people to sharks, what the hell's wrong with you?"

"What? It'd be more interesting than standing around here twiddling our thumbs."

"That's sick. Sometimes I wonder if you should even be allowed near firearms, you know that?" He made a sound of disgust. "We're not asking the boss. She's busy with Graves in the yacht."

_How…Matt. Matt's here. __Why__ is Matt here? _

"We'll throw him in with the girl until she's ready for him. C'mon, I'll come with you. Markowitz, quit pouting, you're unsightly enough as it is."

Bruce went absolutely still as they passed. _They're awfully confident that they've got this place locked down, considering that they just caught someone trying to sneak in,_ he noted as the three hired guns swept by without so much as looking to the sides. He stared at their backs as they pulled their captive out of sight around the bend, then maneuvered himself out of his hiding spot. _I should go after them and free Gallagher and the girl. _The problem was, he wanted to know what business Matthew Graves had on the island. _The woman on the yacht has to be Lise. I'm not going to pretend to know why she's the one here instead of Dunaway himself. Maybe she can enlighten me._ From what the guard who was obviously the leader had said, the prisoners would be safe at least until Lise and Matt's conversation was over, and that was enough for Bruce.

They were, however, heading in the direction of the lighthouse, and therefore potentially towards Dick. "Hey…" he breathed, activating his radio. He tried to think of a snappy little epithet to match the ones the boy had been calling him all evening, but the effort died on his lips as nothing came to him. "Hey," he repeated more solidly.

"'Sup, uncognominated comrade?"

"'Uncognominated comrade?'" he repeated, arching an eyebrow. _Where do you come up with these words?_

"Look, dude, I have to call you _something_."

"Can we keep it limited to three syllable words, at least?"

"Are you _trying_ to take all the fun out of this?" His tone was joking, but Bruce sensed a hint of disappointment. "That's a killer Scrabble word. I used it on Alfred once. You should have seen his face."

"_Anyway_," he hissed, shoving the conversation back on topic. "Are you inside the lighthouse?"

"Nope. I just fell out of it."

"_What?!" _Images of concussions and broken bones flew through his head despite the fact that he knew the teen wouldn't sound nearly so cheerful if he had actually taken such a tumble.

"Relax. It's connected to the caves. You sounded like you thought I literally fell off the tower of something." A beat of silence passed. "Oh. Uh, sorry. I'm fine, I'm in the caves now. Where are you?"

"Same," he answered, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"…Do yours look manmade?"

"Yes."

"Mine, too."

"Listen, three men just left from here, coming in what I believe to be your direction. They have Marty Gallagher with them. They're heading to wherever Gina is being kept."

"Great! Thanks for the heads up, now I can follow them before I attack them."

"_Be careful_," he ordered. "They're armed, and at least one of them sounded like a professional soldier. Another one seems to like throwing people to sharks. Don't attack them unless you have to. Do you understand?"

"…How do you know he likes throwing people to sharks? No, wait, don't answer that. I don't want to know until we're very far away from the ocean."

"_Do you understand?" Listen to me, damn it!_ He screamed in his head.

"Yes! Chill out, I've done this a time or two, you know."

"…I know. Be careful anyway."

There was a patient sigh on the other end of the transmission. "I will be if you will be."

"Then we have a deal."

"Cool. Pseudonymous wonder, out."

"'Pseudonymous wonder?'" he boggled. _How? Really, how do you just spout things like that without prior thought?_

"Hey, I _like_ that one, okay? And the implication was that the three-syllable rule only applied to nicknames for you."

"…You know what? Be whoever you want to be."

"Thanks. I will," he answered jestingly.

"Out."

"Out. For real, this time."

Still shaking his head, he ducked around the corner and behind a large rock before taking time to study the cavern. Water filled two thirds of the space, and a good portion of the inlet lake was taken up by a white pleasure boat with the name _Irish Mogul _etched along its bow. Behind it sat the same moss-colored fishing boat that had been anchored alongside Bryant's slip on the day of the charter; in front of it, pulled in sideways, was the _Coeur de Lise_. The only guard in sight was a single man circling the deck of the cabin cruiser, his weapon hanging from his shoulder as he whistled an off-key tune lazily.

Moving quickly, Bruce dashed across the gravel and up the ramp as soon as the uniformed man disappeared behind the wheelhouse again. Monitoring the mercenary's approach by the loudness of his song, he struck out twice. The whistling cut off as the guard dropped to the deck, unconscious. He moved him out of sight, giving him an extra rap upside the head for good measure, then picked up the gun distastefully, unloaded it, and dropped the magazine into the water, grinning mirthlessly at the tiny splash it made. The topside secured, he proceeded down into the belly of the boat, determined to learn what was going on directly from the horse's mouth.

"I don't understand why you're holding Gina, Lise." Matt's voice stopped him in his tracks outside of the closed door of one of the yacht's several passenger cabins. "She's completely innocent in this."

"Completely innocent, yes, but she's also a key player." There was a moment of silence before the woman sighed heavily. "How many times to do I have to explain this to you? Bryant's will left a lot to be desired. For one thing, he requested that the girl be given over to the Gallaghers in the event something happened to him. He made it clear that they were to control any legacy he left for her until she came of age. Obviously that doesn't work with the plan, which was that custody would be granted to _me_. That's why I had you bring me Bryant's will. Until my people are able to create a suitable counterfeit that leaves the question of custody open – his asking to grant it directly to me would be far too suspicious, given our history - she stays missing. We can hold the state Medical Examiner off as long as we need to, but get Social Services involved and everything goes out the window. There has to be an opening prepared for me to step into in order to get control of Gina and everything she'll inherit."

"Wouldn't the problem you mentioned with the relinquishment-"

"That was a lie," she said flatly. "The relinquishment paperwork was flawless. I only told Bryant that to try and scare him into selling. I should have known he'd check before he just took me at my word."

"…How much longer will you hold Gina?"

"A few days, at most. My people are the best of the best, they'll have something suitable drawn up before too much longer. Stop worrying, she's fine. I'm told she's quite strong, and is holding up very well. Of course, she doesn't know her father is dead yet, so that may change."

"…You haven't told her about Bryant?!"

"Why do you sound so concerned, Matt? I mean, really, why do you care? Killing Bryant was your idea in the first place, remember?"

"Bryant was in the way of progress, Lise. He had to go. I've never held any ill will towards Gina, though. He twisted her head a bit, has her thinking the way he did, but that's not her fault."

"…Why did you _really_ want him dead, Matt? Once upon a time you were just as opposed to offshore development as he was on his dying day. I know you, though, and even if your views really did change that much in fifteen years, there's something else there, driving you. There always has been." Bruce heard a squeak that sounded like someone shifting positions in bed.

"My views _did_ change. They had to, once I saw what was happening to this town. Once I failed, and had to be picked back up by my _perfect_ brother," he hissed. "Always the favorite."

"Matt, you're not still nursing the grudge about the boat?" she said fondly, a trace of admiration in her tone.

"Of course I am!" he snapped. "It was _mine_, my inheritance. Bryant went off to college, he had his scholarship, his dreams, our father's blessing. He was supposed to be the big success. That was fine; I was used to being second best in dad's eyes, and I never wanted to be anything more than a fisherman anyway. Bryant leaving was exactly what I wanted. I would get the boat, and maybe with him gone my father would start to actually notice _me_, would see how much I wanted to be just like him. And he did; he _did_ start seeing me. We had a relationship for the first time. It was good for about two years, until Bryant started having his doubts about what he really wanted from life. As soon as he started talking about coming home, taking over the family business…as soon as that came up, it was like I no longer existed. It went right back to the way it had been. And then, when he left Bryant the boat…goddamn, Lise, how do you think that made me feel?"

She laughed quietly. "That's so adorable, Matt. You waited fifteen years to get back at him for stealing your toys. So devious, biding your time like that."

"It wasn't so much biding my time as soothing my demons. Bryant wasn't a bad guy, Lise. I know it sounds strange for me to say that, but he wasn't. It's not his fault dad loved him better. He knew that hurt me, and he tried to make up for it, co-signing on the loan for my boat so I could start out on my own. For a while that was enough. It was enough to just be what I'd always wanted to be; a fisherman. I won't pretend like I didn't get some pleasure out of watching you leave him for Dunaway; it wounded him, deeply, and I enjoyed knowing that he finally, _finally_ knew what real rejection felt like. But I didn't hate him. Not until I had to live under his roof, and work for him, and see how happy he was with his little girl when I had nothing and nobody. He was so nice about it, Lise. He never held my failure over me, or made me feel small about it. On the boat, yeah, he was the boss, but at home he was just…Bryant. That was when I started to hate him, because he was _just_ _like_ dad. He didn't even have to try; it just came to him naturally. And I was still my same, miserable self, striving and pushing to be a man like my father was, and failing every time."

"…I never expected to pick up the phone and hear your voice at the other end, you know."

"I never expected to be making that call. I had the worst crush on you the minute he brought you home, you know."

"You told me."

"And _you_ told _me_ that you never saw me that way," he replied darkly.

"You were a spineless, shrinking little man who dogged your father's heels embarrassingly," she defended herself. "There was nothing there for me to be attracted to. That phone call, though…hearing you say you wanted to make a deal, that you could get me the land Jack's been after for years? I like a man with resolve, Matt. The way you spoke when you said you wanted Bryant dead…I hadn't been that turned on in months."

"Lise…how much does Dunaway know about this plan?"

"Oh, all of it."

"Really?"

"This has been a pet project of his ever since I told him about the oil under the cliffs. It's going to make Savant – and, by extension, him – wildly rich. He's been investing in property around here for years, just waiting to get his hands on Bryant's land. He was furious that I didn't mention the oil before I signed Gina away. He beat me terribly that night," she reflected. "But, he paid the best plastic surgeon in the country to make me look even better than I did before, so I can't really complain."

"So why did he send you, if you fucked it up the first time?"

"Oh, it's a long story. Suffice it to say that I've proven my effectiveness at…what should we call this…hostile takeovers. His pet name for me now is his 'little operative.' Besides, I had personal interest in this one."

"Gina."

"Yes. I might have signed away my rights, but I've kept tabs on her. She has a lot of potential, it seems."

"She might look like you, but she's just like Bryant at heart, you know," he warned. "You're not going to be able to make her into a cold, calculating bitch."

"Oh, thank you, darling. But I think you underestimate me."

"I'm telling you, she's a tough one."

"I didn't mean about her."

"…What?" There was a gasp, and in the hall Bruce straightened, tensing. "Lise…You said you loved me." His voice was incredulous.

She laughed loudly. "I _do_, Matt. I do. I love how conflicted you are, how you torture yourself with your guilt and your sense of failure. It's beautiful, and it's given me so much pleasure these last few months. But it had to end sometime, love. We both knew that."

"We had a deal. Bryant's life and a hundred grand, and I make no claim on the land and back you up in court when you need it."

"I remember. But you're too big of a liability. I'm not going to need your word in court, and even with hush money thrown in it's going to cost me much less than a hundred thousand dollars to have this room reupholstered. I meant it when I said Jack knows _all_ about this plan. Even about you. My little flings in the pursuit of wealth are amusing to him. Ooh, Matt, did you really not see this coming? Please. You know too much, love."

Nostrils flaring – _she's going to kill him_ – Bruce prepared to smash into the room. Matt was scum, but that didn't mean he deserved to die.

"Lise, I swear to god I won't say a word!" Something heavy crashed into the locked door. "Help!" he cried out.

"Shh," she whispered. "You'll never feel a thing. Just like Bryant. Won't that be nice?"

Bruce backed up for a second charge, his muscles bunching. _Damn hallway is too narrow, I can't get enough momentum behind me,_ he cursed_. _Slamming against the divider, he burst the lock as the report of a pistol reached his ears. He found himself suddenly in the cabin, staring at a bed that was half blood and brains and half weapon-wielding, negligee-clad temptress. _Too late,_ he moaned to himself. _No. That bitch. _ "Well," Lise sighed happily, keeping the gun on him as her eyes roamed up his body. "Aren't you something special, handsome. Thanks for coming."

Had there been any conscious guards in the underground lagoon to hear the second shot, there might have been cause for concern. As it was, the noise merely echoed a few times before fading away, leaving the _Irish Mogul_ rocking gently back and forth in silence.


	26. Chapter 26

Dick hit the rock floor of the cave a little harder than he normally would have. _Stupid vest,_ he thought as he rolled several feet before popping up in a fighting stance. He was fully prepared to dodge and kick, but his position was unnecessary. _Huh. Well, no complaints here,_ he shrugged when he realized that he was completely alone. Rubbing his bruised shoulder, he studied the passageway he'd landed in. _This isn't natural,_ he decided. The walls and ceiling looked as if they'd been blown out with dynamite and left rough, but the floor was smoothed, and a line of lights overhead kept back the dark. _I wonder if this runs out to the water? That would make sense, especially for moving supplies in. I'd rather have to heft stuff up the ladder than try and carry it up those crazy stairs down to where Matt left his boat._

His receiver crackled in his ear. "Hey…" Bruce's voice came out of it, sounding distracted. _Or hurt,_ he thought quickly, his eyes narrowing. He was about to inquire about his partner's status when the greeting came back again, sounding normal.

"'Sup, uncognominated comrade?" he answered, his brief fear allayed.

"'Uncognominated comrade?'" The teen winced, practically hearing the man's eyebrows reach for his hairline.

"Look, dude, I have to call you _something_," he pointed out.

"Can we keep it limited to three syllable words, at least?"

"Are you _trying_ to take all the fun out of this? That's a killer Scrabble word. I used it on Alfred once. You should have seen his face." He kept his tone light, but it stung a little that his mentor was being so stubborn about their names. _We can't be Batman and Robin, of course, but we could at least have come up with __something_. _I tried, but he didn't like what I suggested. What's he want me to do, just bark 'hey' at him every time I want to talk? That's __his__ preferred method, not mine._

"_Anyway_," came bitingly back. "Are you inside the lighthouse?"

"Nope. I just fell out of it."

"_What?!" _

"Relax. It's connected to the caves. You sounded like you thought I literally fell off the tower of something." There was no answer, and it occurred to him that Bruce probably really thought that. _Oops. _"Oh. Uh, sorry. I'm fine, I'm in the caves now. Where are you?"

"Same."

"…Do yours look manmade?" he asked, curious if they were in the same system.

"Yes."

_Cool. You're probably close by, then. _"Mine, too."

"Listen, three men just left from here, coming in what I believe to be your direction. They have Marty Gallagher with them. They're heading to wherever Gina is being kept."

_Sweet! That makes it easy. _"Great!" he cheered into the radio. "Thanks for the heads up, now I can follow them before I attack them."

"_Be careful_." It was clearly an order. "They're armed, and at least one of them sounded like a professional soldier. Another one seems to like throwing people to sharks. Don't attack them unless you have to. Do you understand?"

"…How do you know he likes throwing people to sharks?" Ideas of what Bruce might have seen since they'd separated flashed through his head, and he quickly backtracked. "No, wait, don't answer that. I don't want to know until we're very far away from the ocean."

"_Do you understand?"_

_Holy overprotectiveness,_ he rolled his eyes. "Yes! Chill out, I've done this a time or two, you know."

"…I know. Be careful anyway." _He's been so nervous about me this whole trip_, Dick reflected at the man's words._ I know we're not in familiar territory, but you'd think he would have a little more confidence in my ability to adapt. _

"I will be if you will be," he countered.

"…Then we have a deal."

"Cool. Pseudonymous wonder, out."

"'Pseudonymous wonder?'"

He nearly facepalmed, unable to believe that he'd slipped and used the self-description he'd come up with in the lighthouse when Bruce could hear him. _That was stupid, Grayson. He's probably going to flip out that I referred to myself as the __anything__ wonder, thinking someone's going to immediately connect it to 'boy wonder' and magically conclude that I'm Robin and he's Batman. I get being careful, but no one can hear me. Besides, he repeated it. _"Hey, I _like_ that one, okay? And the implication was that the three-syllable rule only applied to nicknames for you," he sulked.

"…You know what? Be whoever you want to be."

"Thanks. I will," he answered jestingly as he heard a note of mild exasperation, but no anger, in his guardian's voice.

"Out."

"Out. For real, this time," he clarified before breaking the connection. _Okay. Three baddies and a hostage headed my way. I need to follow them to find Gina. But where to hide…_ He thought briefly about climbing back up the ladder, but without knowing for certain where Gina was it was too risky. _Just because they told the police chief that she was being held down here doesn't mean she actually is. If they start up that ladder while I'm hiding on it, it'll get really ugly. I don't mind, but the new hostage might get hurt._

Using extreme caution, he checked a short distance around the curves in both directions from the ladder. On the downhill side he found a natural cave that took off from the corridor. It became completely dark a few yards down, and he grinned. _Perfect. They would have it lit better if they were using it regularly, and even if this __is__ the way they go, there's a lot more places to hide in the shadows. Otherwise, they'll be really obvious as they go by, and I'll be invisible._ He moved inside and crouched behind a rock, then stared at the junction, waiting.

It didn't take long for him to hear them approaching, and a second after that they passed by the mouth of his cave. _Sidearms only, it looks like. _Once their voices had faded, he slipped out after them and gave pursuit. As they walked around the ladder up to the lighthouse, he grimaced. _I could have hidden up there, after all. _Several twists of the hallway later, the noise they were making stopped advancing. Dick crept forward on his toes, listening as they shoved their new hostage to the floor roughly in a side room. "Marty!" he heard Gina exclaim. _Oh, man, really? Margie's husband? He must have come looking for her after all. Not good._

"It's okay, Gina. I came to find you," he replied.

"Oh, you found her all right. The only problem is, now you're _both_ our prisoners."

"Shark bait," came a tittering giggle.

"Can it, Markowitz! Jesus." _That's the guy who came up to get Matt from the lighthouse,_ Dick connected, recognizing the authoritative voice. _He must be the professional Bruce mentioned._ The structure of the wall kept him from getting a good look at the room; he needed to be on the other side of the entrance in order to see what was going on. Glancing up towards the ceiling, he saw two feet of rock hanging between the ceiling and the opening to the side cave, and smiled. _More than enough to cover my movements,_ he thought, then frowned. _Normally._

If his jump from the lighthouse ladder had taught him anything, it was that the bulletproof vest beneath his sweater impeded his ability to properly tuck, both when flipping and landing. It had felt like it fit okay when he first put it on, but now that he'd been moving around in it he wondered if it was supposed to be this loose. _Batman's armor is practically skin tight on him. What good is it going to do me if it doesn't fit right? Especially if I only get shot because I couldn't move fast enough due to it not fitting? I should take it off._ He prepared to pull his sweater up to get at the vest, keeping his ear tuned to the people he was stalking, then paused. _No. Bruce will __kill__ me if he finds out I didn't keep it on. _He didn't dare call him to explain the situation, either, not when he was standing outside of a room containing three armed men and a hostage situation. Resigning himself to working with somewhat limited mid-air motion, he backed up several steps, took a running start, and jumped, flipping over to where he needed to be.

_Chains?!_ he hissed mentally when he saw how they had Gina trussed up, spread eagled against a wall. _At least she doesn't look hurt. And Matt's nowhere to be seen. Good._ She did look scared, though, and her expression deepened when one of the guards launched a kick at the unfortunate fisherman who had come out on a suicide mission to save her.

"Markowitz! Knock it off! Get him tied up beside the girl. Help him," he directed the other guard.

They moved to obey, the one called Markowitz grumbling as he did so. _So those two have their hands full,_ Dick calculated, _and boss man has his back to me. _He hesitated. _Bruce told me not to attack them unless I had to, though. Still…in a minute they won't have the distraction of locking Marty up._ Torn, he shifted back and forth on his feet, watching unhappily as Gallagher was dragged towards the wall. The man struggled, giving the more unstable guard an excuse to punch him. _Okay. Abuse of hostages. That's my excuse._ Needing no other reason, he ran light-footedly into the room, leapt, and landed a hard kick to the back of the lead mercenary's head. The man crumpled beneath him.

Marty gasped as he saw the black-clad figure barrel into the room, alerting the others to the new arrival. "Get him!" Markowitz ordered, shoving the hostage against the rock as hard as he could. Marty hit the wall hard and slid down to the floor, conscious but dazed as he watched the fight unfold.

He didn't know who the kid – and it was a kid, he was sure, probably about Gina's age – was, or why he was here, but he was glad to see him. He'd heard about shady figures that roamed the big cities, meting out justice in the dark, but no one like that had ever set foot in his small town. There had never been a need for them, at least not until Savant came in and started twisting everybody into their web of promises. Whether this boy was someone like that or not, he had obviously had training; that much had been revealed by the perfect blow he'd put the first man on the floor with. As the other two spun around to face him, though, Marty saw them reach for their guns. _Oh, no. No, Gina doesn't need to see this._ "Watch out, kid, they're armed!" he warbled, trying to push himself off of the ground.

His mouth dropped open as the teen seemed to take flight, his feet barely touching the ground before he threw himself up and forwards and sailed over the heads of both guards. He landed on his feet directly behind them, and before either could register what had happened the sole of his shoe connected with one's rear end, shoving him face-first into the dirt. Turning slightly, he lashed out at the gun-hand of the other. There was a snapping sound, and the weapon dropped from freshly broken fingers. The boy that Marty had already decided must be Gina's guardian angel pivoted to finish off the one that had landed on his nose, and that was when the fisherman saw the problem.

_Never thought I'd be grateful for that IED nearly taking my head off, _Markowitz thought as he felt his fingers snap.The variety of drugs that he'd been ordered to take since that fateful day on the other side of the world had seemed a burden, a weakness, at first. Over time, however, he'd learned that the particular combination assigned to him, if taken at two times the prescribed dosage, rendered him almost completely impervious to pain. _Glad I took my pills this morning,_ he smirked, reaching down for his fallen pistol with his undamaged hand. _But you won't be, mystery kid._

Marty saw the man with the broken fingers smile dangerously. _Something's really screwy with that guy._ He went for his gun with the arm that hadn't been assaulted, and something galvanized in the fisherman. _No! His back's turned, for god's sake! You can't just shoot a child point blank, you son of a bitch!_ He was still dazed, but Markowitz was only a few feet away, and the boy was momentarily occupied putting the second guard to sleep. Staggering to his feet, he took a step forward, determined to help in some way, then froze as the barrel swiveled towards him.

"You're not very good at this whole 'rescuing people' thing, are you?" Markowitz snorted, releasing the safety. _Two close up face shots in two days? I __like__ working for this Dunaway lady._ His finger wrapped around the trigger as Gina screamed.

Dick saw Marty stand out of the corner of his eye. More importantly, he saw that the third guard wasn't so much as fazed by his damaged hand. _Okay, that's just weird. Even pumped full of adrenaline, I notice when someone breaks one of my bones. Hell, __Batman__ at least flinches and backs off for a second to regroup when he takes a hit like that. What is this guy, high on something?_ The gun, now held in the guard's left hand, came around and was shoved into Gallagher's face, and Dick abandoned the groaning figure beneath him – he wasn't out, but he would be down for several minutes, at least – in the interest of keeping the fisherman from meeting Bryant's fate. Throwing himself sideways at the armed guard, he realized his mistake too late as an already swelling fist connected with the side of his face. _Shit. I should have known he wouldn't hesitate to hit me with that arm when he doesn't even seem to have felt what I did to it._

He slammed against the jagged rock beside Marty, an irate palm holding him against the wall by his throat. As the world slipped away, all he could manage to be grateful for was that he didn't hear a gunshot.


	27. Chapter 27

_Dick,_ the masked man couldn't help but think in admiration as he observed the woman he'd tied to the bed, _you either have remarkable beginner's luck or an outright gift for picking out girls who are going to grow into bombshells._

Lise had been fast with her gun, but Bruce had years of practice at being faster. Even so, he would swear he'd felt a tiny breeze as the shot had gone past his head. A millisecond later he'd been on top of her, smacking her hand against the wall to make her drop the weapon to the floor. Delivering a blow to her jaw that left her dazed, he zip-tied her wrists to the headboard before he climbed off of her. "Talk."

"You didn't have to get up, you know," she said seductively. She pouted, but the fact that her eyes were still unfocused following the sharp punch she'd absorbed subtracted greatly from the image she was trying to project. "I don't mind restraints. They make it more fun."

"_Talk_."

"I don't do pre-coitus pillow talk, big man. Only post."

"Yeah, I noticed," he said, glancing at what was left of Matt.

"How long were you out there, listening to us?"

"Long enough," he growled, becoming exasperated. "Where's the girl?"

"She's here. She's safe." Her eyes narrowed inquisitively. "Who _are_ you? More importantly, who hired you? If it was my husband, he's much more of a snake in the grass than I ever took him for. I'll have to congratulate him."

"Tell me where the girl is."

"I _did_. She's around here, somewhere safe. I haven't seen her, I don't know the specifics. Why do you care?"

_Because she's innocent. And because my son cares about her._ "You have no idea where on this island she's being kept?"

"Why would I? That's not my job. I pay people for that."

"You wanted her so you could gain control of Bryant's land. But what then?"

"What do you mean?" Stretching, she extended one bare foot out from under the covers still draped across her legs and flexed her toes. Bruce glanced down at the movement, then looked away. _Since when is curling your toes a come-on?_

"You know what I mean. Answer the question."

"I'm not saying anything more until you do."

His eyes slipped into a glare. _I don't have time for this. _"Fine. If you won't talk, you're useless to me." Turning away from the bed, he started towards the door, only to be stopped by her voice.

"You _are_ quite the dominating one, aren't you? Have to have it your way," she huffed. "Fine. I guess I should be used to it after so long with Jack." Seeing that he'd paused and was listening, she smiled. _Bide your time, Lise. Just keep him occupied until one of the guards comes to check. I doubt he took out all four of them before he came down here, especially since he doesn't seem to know where Gina's at._ "That was one of the things I liked so much about Matt, you know. The contrast to Jack. Matt was so…inexperienced, at all of it. 'Help me kill my brother,' he said to me. How childish! No one just comes out and _says_ it like that." She laughed.

"Tell me about the girl. What are you going to do with her after the land is in your hands?"

Sighing, she shot him a disappointed look. "There's a whip in one of the drawers behind you. I'd probably have more fun if you at least pretended like you might hit me with it for not answering."

_What did Bryant ever see in you?_ Bruce couldn't help but wonder.

"Oh, I know that look," she crowed. "The 'what is that person doing with that other person' puzzle. Let me guess; you're thinking of Bryant and I? Mmm. Bryant…Bryant was the end of the line on the goody-goody train. I was such a model little daughter; perfect grades, lots of friends, et cetera, et cetera. My family wasn't happy about Bryant's station in life, but they knew me better than I knew myself. They predicted it wouldn't last, and they were right. As soon as I met Jack…oh, Jack. To this day I wonder if my father sent him up here just to woo me away from boring old Bryant. Jack awakened something in me, something I hadn't known was there. A hunger, I suppose. An insatiable need to manipulate, to fight and claw and kick my way to the top. It was so _primal_, and dirty. I loved it. I never realized I was incomplete until he showed me how much _fun_ I was missing out on."

"What about the girl?"

"Gina was unexpected. I didn't have the time for a child, I was still just learning the true depths of my _own_ character. So I gave her to Bryant. Now, though, she can be of use to me. Once the land is in Savant's name…well, we'll see. She seems to have potential. I was like her, once; young, innocent, unaware of my own desires and prowess. I don't want her to have to wait as long as I did to realize what she really wants, and who she can become. If she carries the seed within her that I did, I want to nurture it, watch it bloom. I want to train her to be an even better operative than I am. Jack and I never had children of our own, but…she may be a worthy substitute."

"And if she _doesn't_ carry that seed?"

She looked at him as if the question were absurd. "Well then she'd be a liability, wouldn't she? In order to find out if she inherited my thirst and knack for this kind of work, she'll have to be made aware of certain facts about how Jack and I operate. If we tell her those things and she insists on remaining true to Bryant's character…well, there isn't much we'd be able to do for her at that point, and we certainly wouldn't risk ourselves and everything we've done for a useless child."

"So you'd do to her what you did to Matt when he was no longer of use to you."

"Oh, no, I'd have to be much more subtle with her. Matt's death will be easy to cover up, but missing and dead children tend to get people riled."

"Unless, of course, you've paid off the local police department, newspaper, and everyone else," Bruce sneered.

"The sad part, darling, is that it cost next to nothing to get most of them on our side. They're all so desperate for someone to swoop in and save their town that they were even willing to sell out one of their own. We had nothing to do with closing the processors, in case you were wondering; it was pure coincidence. I'm actually rather disappointed that we didn't think of it ourselves, but at least now we have an idea of how to better manipulate things if we ever run into an opportunity like this again." _Where the hell are they?_ she thought. _There should have been one topside and at least one other on the shore. I would have thought that second shot would bring them running._ She was beginning to panic a little, something she rarely experienced and always hated. _God damn you for making me feel this way,_ she cursed the man standing over her. _Just keep stalling, they have to come eventually. They know we need to dispose of the body._

He could tell she was getting nervous. "Expecting someone?" he asked, seeing her eyes go to the door.

"I don't know what you're talking about, handsome," she answered silkily. If she wriggled down just right…_yes_. Her arms ached as she fully extended them, but it was enough that her foot could just brush the front of his pants. She wished there was a way she could manage to kick him there, but she couldn't make herself any longer; barring that, she could still go back to her first plan and try to seduce him. _Then__ I'll make him a girl,_ she planned. _It's a shame, though…he looks like he'd be good in bed._

He stepped back as her painted toenails brushed his zipper. _Nice try,_ he thought, almost smiling at the frustrated look that flashed across her countenance as he retreated. _If I was that unable to control myself, I'd never have gotten this far, though. She's not stupid, she should have known that. _"Last ditch effort," he informed her, realizing that that was exactly what her attempt at arousing him had been.

"Fuck you," she whispered, her resolve crumbling a little. _Still, he doesn't know where Gina is, and Gina doesn't know I'm involved,_ she reassured herself._ This could still work out._ "Are you going to kill me?" she asked as pathetically as she could, making her eyes go wide with the question.

"No."

_Idiot. You should, to cover your own ass._ _Still, it works in my favor. _"…What are you going to do, then?"

"I'm going to leave you here. With your lover." With that, he made to leave.

"Aren't…aren't you going to gag me? So I don't cry for help?"

"Why? There's no one out there to hear you."

Unbidden, her expression changed to one of shock. _What does he mean, __no one__?! _"I have security, you know. They'll find me. _Jack_ will find me, and then he'll find you. And trust me, you don't want him to find you."

"Okay," he nodded, accepting the information calmly as he moved to the exit. "But…will any of that happen before the _state_ police – you know, the ones you haven't paid off - can get here and see what you've done?"

"You son of a bi-!" Closing the door to the cabin, he paused, listening as she launched into a series of expletives. Grimacing, he made his way back up to the deck, listening closely to see if she would start screaming for help in the hopes of rousing her men. To her credit, she did not. _That's a tough woman. Evil,_ he conceded, _but tough._

The guard he'd knocked out up above was still completely unaware of the outside world. Bruce took the precaution of zip-tying his hands, too, just in case he happened to come out of it, then made his way back onto land and into the corridor. "Hey. Pseudonymous wonder, or whatever it is you're calling yourself these days. Report."

Nothing.

"_Report,_" he ordered more forcefully. _Goddamn it, Dick, what are you doing? _

Silence.

_Okay, maybe he's somewhere that he can't talk right now. _"If you're engaged, just flick your radio on so I know you can hear me."

There was no noise from his receiver. _Oh, god, something's wrong. He wouldn't ignore me like this on purpose._ Fear rising in his throat, he made his way up the passage, ears straining to pick up anything they could. Every few hundred feet he tried radioing him again, to the same effect. _Maybe he can at least hear me. If he can hear me, he'll know I'm coming, even if he can't respond. _It wasn't a terribly comforting thought, but it was better than the possibility that the boy couldn't hear him at all.

He passed the natural cave he'd entered from some time earlier and kept going, cursing himself. _I let those men go right by me. I could have taken them down right then. _Part of him knew that doing so might not have made a difference – for all he knew there were another three or four men just guarding Gina – but the chance that it could have glimmered nastily on the edges of his concern. "Please, answer me," he begged quietly as he came to a stop at the base of a ladder.

No reply. _Maybe…maybe it's just an equipment malfunction. Maybe he's fine. Maybe he's freed Gina and is looking for me right now. The radio __did__ have that strange crackling problem earlier, and who knows how bad the storm is up top? That could be screwing with it. He's fine. I'm sure he's fine._ Telling himself as much didn't help his stomach in the least, but at this point he supposed that only hearing him say that he was safe and sound would do that.

The corridor continued uphill past the ladder, which Bruce assumed led into the lighthouse. _He checked the lighthouse, that's how he got down here,_ he recalled. Looking towards the square of brightness at the top of the vertical shaft, he frowned. _That's a long way to let himself fall. He must have come down to the height of the ceiling here and then dropped; he wouldn't throw himself down twenty feet of narrow rock, surely._ He was about to move past, convinced that if Gina was being held in the building Dick would have found her before coming into the caves, when a thud and a moan sounded from above. He hesitated. _That could have been Gallagher. Either way, they sounded like they were in pain._ His eyes swept the floor. _Damn bare rock. No chance for footprints or any other sign. Not helpful_.

There was another miserable exhalation, and that made up his mind. Even if going up didn't lead him to Dick, there was clearly someone up there who required assistance. If he had known for an absolute fact that his partner was in trouble, he might have been able to walk past and ignore his guilt about first not being fast enough to save Matt and then bypassing a distressed person. As it was, though, he didn't _know_ that Dick needed his assistance, and he didn't want to find anyone else with the top of their head splattered across the room. Casting an unhappy glance down the passageway, he gritted his teeth and began to climb.


	28. Chapter 28

"Well, well, well," Markowitz grinned, dropping the unconscious teen to the floor and kneeling beside him. "What do we have here?"

"You…you leave him be, you hear?" Marty said unevenly.

"Can it, shark bait," the guard snapped, rising to his feet as soon as he knew the boy wouldn't be getting back up right away. "Get against the wall."

"…No."

"What, you're going to be all brave now? I said get against the goddamn wall!"

"Or what, you'll shoot me?"

"No. I'll shoot the girl." He leveled the gun at Gina.

"Wait!" Gallagher cried. "I'm going. I'm doing it. Don't hurt her, or the other one." The metal cuffs closed around his wrists and ankles, and he felt the last of his hope fleeing.

"I wouldn't have shot her, by the way," Markowitz informed him jeeringly, leaning close once he'd secured the man to the rock. "She's important to the boss. Big plans for her, apparently. Have to keep her alive."

"You…you…" _Gallagher, you fool,_ he berated himself.

"I _would_ have shot you, though. Or this one," he added, kicking the unresponsive masked figure. "Speaking of this one…who are you?" Dropping to one knee again, he tugged on the mask that covered his features. "Damn, what'd you do, glue this thing to your face, kid?" he cursed when it refused to budge. "Fuck it. Hey, Green, you awake over there?" he called out.

"…Markowitz?" came a groan from the closer guard. "D'you get the kid?"

"Yeah, I did. He kicked your ass, though, huh?"

"…Shut up."

"You're starting to sound like Majors. The kid kicked _his_ ass, too."

"…Oh, shit," Green moaned, pushing himself up and shuffling over to third uniformed figure, who was still sprawled where he'd landed following Dick kicking him in the back of the head. "Is he even alive?"

"Who gives a shit?" Markowitz muttered.

"…Okay, good. Damn. He must have hit him just right, because Majors is _out_."

"Good. Now we can have a little fun."

Green's head shot up. "Oh, come on, Markowitz. Let's just chain him up with the others and leave him for the boss to deal with. Besides, we've got that disposal job tonight."

"…You're right," he grinned maliciously. "We _do_ have that disposal job. We should probably make sure we've got a good place all figured out _before_ we have to do that, don't you think?"

"The boss will be pissed if she's ready for us to take the body out and we're not here to do it." _On top of that, I hurt everywhere,_ he griped. _That kid punches __hard._

"So we cover our asses, tell her that Majors ordered us to get rid of the intruders and then come back for the body she wants dumped. She'll be mad at him, not us, and if he denies it we can just say he woke up for a second, told us to do it, and then passed out again."

"…I don't like this."

"I don't care what you like Green. I want to see some people get eaten by sharks tonight, and if you don't go along with it, maybe you can join them!" His face was pale, a light sheen of sweat visible along his forehead as his eyes bulged. "Now, what do you say?"

"You're insane, Markowitz," Green said, shaking his head, fear writ large across his features. "Certifiably insane."

"_Are you coming?!"_

"…Yes. I don't really have a choice, do I? You're crazy, there's no telling what you would actually do if I said no."

"Nope. There isn't." He beamed, seeming very pleased with himself. "You carry this sneaky little bastard and bring up the rear," he nudged Dick with his boot. "You two," he directed to Marty and Gina, "are gonna walk in front of me. First you," he pointed to Gina, "then you. If you try to run, girl, I'll kill one of your would-be saviors. Got it?"

"Got it," she whispered. She tried not to stare at the masked boy that Green, groaning, was throwing over his shoulder while the crazy one unchained her. She couldn't be certain, but..._The scar's missing,_ she thought._ But that could be makeup, _followed a second later. _How would he have found me, though? The police haven't, so how did he? This is so surreal. Two days ago everything was normal, and now…now I'm chained in a cave, I have no idea why, and a guy in a mask just appeared out of nowhere and started beating up on armed guards. I wish…I wish I knew dad was safe. He's probably worried sick. Where is __he__? I mean, I appreciate Marty coming out and trying, but…_ A sharp shove broke off her train of thought and got her moving. She went as slowly as she could, hoping to buy them a little bit of extra time, a few more seconds before…_Before what? He wouldn't…he wouldn't actually throw us to sharks, would he?_ "Marty," she said, her voice heavy with fear. _He seems crazy enough to. He sounded serious about it._

"It's okay, Gina." She didn't believe him; there was panic in his tone, too.

"Shut up, both of you," Markowitz commanded. "Keep walking, and keep it quiet."

As they passed the ladder up to the lighthouse, Green heard someone talking indiscernibly above them. _Probably that police chief. Majors said earlier that he was sitting up there drinking himself blind._ The body over his shoulder moaned quietly and shifted, pulling his attention back to the task at hand. A moment later, a second voice joined the first. Distracted by his cargo, Green failed to pick up on it, moving past the ladder without another thought about what was going on at the top of it.

When they'd reached the lagoon, Markowitz considered his options. _Can't take the yacht, the boss lady is still in there with Graves and she doesn't want the girl to know she's involved. The Coeur de Lise is a wanted vessel, that would be stupid. But...I've got the captain of that rickety old green thing right here._ "You. That's your boat, right?"

"Y-yes."

"Good. You're gonna take us all out on a nice little midnight fishing expedition. How's that sound, huh? Get up there." They marched onto the boat, Markowitz following Marty into the wheelhouse. "Green, get those kids downstairs and stay with them," he snapped. His broken hand started to throb a little as the engine fired up and they pulled away from shore. _Shit. I should have taken another dose before we left. Oh well, I'll be fine until Green and I get back with the girl._ _I'm not turning around now._ "You better take us someplace with lots of sharks," he hissed at the man driving the boat. "You do not want to make me angry."

"You already said you wouldn't kill Gina," Marty retorted, his confidence higher now that he was behind the wheel of his vessel. _I've endured a lot of storms in this old tub,_ he reminded himself. _I reckon maybe she and I can make it through one more together._

"I could kill you."

"So long as Gina's safe, that's all I care about."

"Safe?" he laughed. "Who said I'd keep her _safe_? I said alive, smart one. Alive and safe are not the same things. I can think of plenty I could do to her, right in front of you, that wouldn't kill her." He saw him gulp, fixing his eyes forward as he guided his boat through the several turns of the underground channel. "That's what I thought. Like I said, there'd better be sharks."

_We'll go to Baffle Shoals,_ he decided, pursing his lips. _There's no sharks there, but it's close enough to town that if I set the lights wrong someone might notice and call us in to the Coast Guard. Gina's strong; he might hurt her, but he won't be able to break her. So long as she's alive, that's what matters the most. I'd like to keep the boy that way, too, but if I can't…well. We'll go to Baffle Shoals. It's our best chance._

Below deck, Green laid his burden down on one of the narrow bunks before turning to Gina. "Um…" he said, confronted by angry hazel eyes. She glared at him for a moment, then moved past and sat next to the boy on the bed, brushing his hair back from his face. "Listen, kid…" _It wasn't supposed to be like this,_ he wanted to tell her. _It was just supposed to be you, held prisoner but generally okay for a few days. No one else was supposed to get involved, and crazy up there…he wasn't supposed to happen. If Majors had just woken up…shit. Why couldn't the kid kick __Markowitz__ in the head? I mean sure, the boss lady probably would have killed him still, but at least we wouldn't be on our way to watch him get torn up by a bunch of hungry fish._ "I'm sorry," he said, lamely.

"Then why are you helping him?" she asked quietly.

"I…it's my job." He hated himself even as the words left his mouth.

"…You're scared, too," she said slowly, looking up at him. Some of the ire had left her expression, and he relaxed a bit. "You're just as scared of him as we are, aren't you?"

"He's been a loose cannon as long as I've known him," he admitted, sitting at the table across from the bunk. "Which hasn't been long. I just signed up with this company a few months ago. I'm…I'm pretty new at this whole 'mercenary' thing. I was in the army, but…I was a rear echelon techie. Closest I ever got to battle waswhen they'd fire live rounds over our heads during training." He laughed bitterly. "I was surprised they hired me, especially once I met Markowitz and Majors and heard some of the things they'd been involved in. Majors – the one the unnamed assailant there knocked out – is okay. He's a good leader, and he can handle Markowitz. Now…" he shook his head. "I don't know how far he'll go. For all I know he'll kill _me_ while we're out here and just take you back himself. He says he's a little crazy because of his head injury, but…I always got the feeling that he was psycho before that, and it just brought out what was already inside of him."

"You have a gun," she pointed out. "And he's got a broken hand. I mean, I don't want anyone to die, but…if someone absolutely has to tonight, I know who I'm voting for."

"It's not that easy," he whispered. "I've never killed someone before. I told you, I was a techie, and I've mostly been given milk runs since I started in the semi-civilian world. This was supposed to be another easy security job. Snatch you, guard you, drop you someplace you could be found easily once the boss had what she needed." He shrugged. "It was all copacetic before your friends started showing up."

"…I don't know this person," she insisted, her hand covering Dick's lightly. _If it __is__ him, I'm not giving him away. Whoever it is, they have a mask on for a reason; it's not my place to even make guesses about who's behind it. _"Marty, though, I know him. He's practically a second father."

"Fathers…" _I know I'm not supposed to say anything, but she should know. She deserves to know. Hell, I'd want to know if my father was dead. _"Hey, listen, I-" he cut off, shifting uncomfortably as the boat began to lurch. "Ugh." He reached for his stomach.

"Seasick? We're probably getting out into open water, that's why the boat motion changed." She listened. "Is there a storm tonight? I couldn't hear it from where you were keeping me."

"Yeah, there's a storm," he verified, his face shading to match his name. "Oh, god. I've never been good on boats."

"You should go topside. The fresh air will help."

"Markowitz told me to guard you two."

"Where are we going to go?" she asked sarcastically, grabbing the edge of the counter as they rolled from side to side in the swells.

"…You could arm yourselves," he pointed out weakly. A hiccup escaped him, and his eyes rolled as he bit back bile.

"With _what_, the mop? The sharpest thing in here is Marty's can opener and a couple butter knives. Those'll do us a lot of good against two grown men with loaded guns." Seeing him glance up towards the hatch achingly, she sighed. "Would you just _go?_ It's going to be way worse in here if you lose it."

Without answering, he bolted for it, letting in a gust of cold wind and rain as he fled with a hand clamped over his mouth.

"_Finally_," she muttered once he'd disappeared. Stumbling to the tiny sink, she dug a frayed rag from a drawer and wet it, then made her way back to the bunk. The other teen hadn't moved in her brief absence, and her eyes narrowed. _How hard did he hit you? Your head's going to hurt like hell when you wake up, you've been out for a while now._ Gently, she began to swipe at the boy's lower lip, unable to stand not knowing for certain. _Not too much,_ she cautioned herself. _If it's him, you don't want to uncover enough of the scar that the others will notice it. Not that it will matter if he gets thrown to sharks tonight, but still. Principle._ A few moments later, she drew a tiny gasp, brushed across his chin with the cloth one more time, and smirked. "I _knew_ it," she whispered as the very end of the mark became visible. Glancing towards the deck access to be certain that they were still alone, she leaned down and pressed her lips against his ear. "_Dick," _she whispered. "Wake up, sleepyhead."

"Mmph…" It was a tiny complaint, but it was enough to make her start shaking him. "Stooop," he begged.

"Shh! They'll hear you!"

_Okay,_ he thought, his head spinning even with his eyes shut. _That's not Bruce. It doesn't sound right for him. Where the hell am I that's moving around so much?_ He cracked his eyes, trying to see in the low light of a single wall sconce.

There was an angel hovering over him, smiling encouragingly.

"Oh, Christ, I'm dead," he moaned. "Bruce's gonna _kill_ me…wait." He wrinkled his nose. _That doesn't make sense._ "…Gina?" he asked hesitantly.

"It's me." She leaned in close, pressing her lips to his, and he nearly passed out again. "What's wrong?" she asked, pulling away after a few seconds and seeing his eyes rolling.

"Absolutely nothing. And absolutely everything." His left temple was pounding, but he didn't notice it until the last heat from her kiss left him.

"Tell me about it," she laughed sardonically. "I'm the one they've been holding for two days, remember?"

"And yet you still smell fantastic," he sighed.

"Thank you, but body odor is very low on our list of problems right now."

At that, everything came flooding back to him. "Oh, _shit_," he said, his eyes opening wide. "Sorry," he apologized immediately. "Bad language."

"Oh, please. I grew up with fishermen and dock workers, I think I've heard worse than that."

"…Mind teaching me some?" he asked. She laughed tightly, reminding him again that they weren't exactly strolling along the beach. "Gina…where are we?" he inquired.

"We're on Marty's – Margie's husband's – boat. There's a bad storm outside." As if the weather felt the need to make its presence better known, the boat was slammed to one side by a wall of water, throwing them both to the floor.

"Ow, goddamn it!" Dick's hand went to the side of his face, probing at his mask. Something crunched, and he winced.

"Oh, god, was that _you_?" she asked in horror when she heard the sound.

"Huh? No, it was my…something else. Part of the mask." _My radio. I can't check in without it, can't find out if Bruce is okay. Not like I could give him backup from here, but still._ He paused, wondering if the man had been trying to reach him. _I don't even know how long I was out. He's probably worried sick if he's been trying to reach me._ He shuddered, trying not to think about how his mentor got when he went missing. "The guards?" he asked, curious how outnumbered they were.

"One stayed down. The leader. You tagged the other two pretty good, but they're both on board with us. Markowitz – the one whose hand you broke – he's crazy. He's gone crazy, or he was all along, or…or something." Her face was tight. "He talked about throwing you and Marty to sharks. I…I think he was serious."

He pushed himself upright and allowed her to pull him back up onto the bed. "Oh. Well," he joked even as his face paled, "at least I've got practice with them now." _We're trapped on a tiny, __old__ fishing boat in the middle of what sounds like a hurricane with two armed men whom I've already hurt and who probably aren't happy about it. One of them has gone insane and wants to feed me to a bunch of makos, or whatever else happens to show up. I've probably got a concussion, which I suppose doesn't mean much since trying to fight with the way the boat is moving would be virtually impossible anyway. And my radio's broken. _He sighed, closing his eyes for a second.

_Okay, Bruce. It's official. I could __really__ use a Batman ex machina right about now._


	29. Chapter 29

When he was fairly certain that he wouldn't be met by a wall of gun-wielding guards, Bruce peeked over the edge of the shaft and into the lighthouse. _Who the hell is __that__?_ he groused, pulling himself up and stepping off of the ladder. The man flopped on the floor wasn't Marty Gallagher or Dick, that was for sure. Glancing around briefly and fixing all points of entry to the room in his mind, the masked man stepped forward and turned the figure over. Seeing that his eyes were open, he knelt down and hissed two questions. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" _This feels like a waste. I've got to find Dick. _He knew better than to walk away from a potential witness or conspirator, though. _He could have valuable information, but he needs to hurry up and spill it if he does._

"Name's Denny," he breathed, the words carrying a heavy perfume of alcohol. It took a large amount of control for Bruce to not jerk away from the nose-burning odor. "Supposed to be watching up top. Fell outta my chair, though."

"You're drunk."

"Yup. But the other fellow, he's the reason I can't move, not the booze."

"'Other fellow?' What did he look like?"

"…Well, a fair bit like you, actually. Mask and everything." His eyes narrowed woozily. "…You sure you aren't the same person? I dunno, the other one looked younger…"

He didn't favor him with a reply. _Dick obviously nerve blocked him. _"Did he knock you out?"'

"He did. At least, I think it was him, and not just the whiskey. Can't really tell for sure. Could be my head or my liver making everything all wonky. Anyway, he asked me all sorts of questions. We talked. I told him things…things I probably shouldn't have…"

_Good boy,_ he thought fiercely. "Where did he go after he knocked you out?"

"Down to the caves. Said he wanted to find the girl."

"Where is she being kept?"

"Dunno. Somewhere underneath us, they said. They wouldn't let me see her." He twitched his foot. "Hey, I'm starting to be able to move again!" he said, his voice still stuck at half volume.

"If you want to stay able to move, you'll tell me what you told him," Bruce threatened. "_Quickly_."

Denny recapped everything he'd discussed with the other disguised person; LACPOD, the town's desperation, his regrettable role in everything. "I feel awful about it, mister," he moaned at the end. "I never wanted anyone to be killed, but…people were already dying all around from it. I hate myself for what I've done. That's why I've been hitting the bottle so hard lately. Just trying to forget the awful things I've stood by and let happen."

"…Thanks," Bruce muttered, moving back towards the ladder. _So he's in the caves somewhere. He has to be, there's nowhere else to go, and that's where they're supposedly keeping Gina. _Every second that went by without knowing his son was safe made his mood darker. Cowl or none, he was slipping all the way into his alter ego, no longer able to balance between his day and night personas the way he had been. _I have to be careful,_ he reminded himself. _Batman's mannerisms are known. If I display too many of them in this costume, it could give us away._

"Hey, mister!"

"…What?"

"I want to help you! Let me come with you, maybe I can help!"

"…These people aren't the forgiving type. You're better off staying here and pretending you never saw anything. Someone knocked you out, and that's the last thing you remember. You never even saw them. Got it?" Without waiting for a response, he slid down the ladder and turned uphill.

_This system could lead under the entire island, _he thought as he strode down the hall. His footfalls were silent, but that was the only precaution he took. In his mind, there was no time to take the extra steps that he always pushed Dick to follow, no spare seconds to stop and listen before rounding a corner. If there were guards ahead, he would deal with them when he found them._ Depending on how many paths there are, he may just be wandering the corridors, still looking for her, _he tried to calm himself. _Who knows, maybe he took out the people guarding her and she was so grateful that they…_

He came to a dead stop, a ferocious frown on his face. _No. Absolutely not. They're fourteen. I don't care __how__ grateful she is, they'd better not be doing __that__. Besides, she shouldn't even be able to recognize him. _Shaking his head roughly, he continued along his path. _She's a smart girl, though. She might figure it out. Still…they'd better not be doing anything more than kissing. No matter how many guards he tackled._

The next curve he rounded revealed an entrance to a side room. He paused, listening, but heard nothing from inside. Deciding the coast was clear enough, he walked in, immediately finding one of the guards he'd seen earlier sprawled out on the rock, alive but very unconscious. _Nice work, partner,_ he grinned mirthlessly, baring his teeth. _But where did the other two go?_

Rising, he moved to the walls. _Two sets of chains,_ he mused. Running his gloved finger along the edge of one of the cuffs, his eyes narrowed. _Blood, but not much. This must have been where they were keeping Gina; it makes sense that her wrists would have chafed after two days._ The other apparatus was clean of bodily fluids. _The kids were definitely here. Gallagher and the other two guards, though…I can't be sure of them. They probably were, but there's no evidence to verify it. Damn. Where the hell did you go, Dick? What happened in here?_ The only relief he got from the room was its distinct lack of blood or other signs that his ward had taken serious damage.

Back in the hall, he continued uphill. _If they escaped, he might have thought he was doing me a favor by running away from where he knew I was, distracting the remaining two from coming back and interrupting what I was doing._ His hopeful hunch was proved false two turns later when the tunnel suddenly ended. _Cave-in_, Bruce sighed, placing his hand on the piled rock. _An old one, from the looks of it. They had to have gone for the boats, unless they turned off into the natural cave I took to get here. He had no way of knowing for sure where it would come out, but if they __did__ make it out to the beach, maybe they're off the island entirely. _Reaching up and fingering a particular spot on the surface of his mask, he flipped his radio over to the frequency he knew Alfred was listening on. "Alfred," he whispered.

"Yes, sir?"

"Have you heard anything?"

"…No, sir. Is there a problem?" In the car, the butler's mouth tightened. _Do not tell me you've lost track of him._

"…I don't know yet. He hasn't answered his radio for the past half hour. I was hoping maybe we were just having local transmission issues from the storm, or being underground, or something, and that maybe he'd been able to contact you."

"What can I do?"

"Stay there and monitor. Stay on this channel, this is where he'll be expecting you. If he calls in, let me know _immediately_."

"Of course. Anything else?"

"…Pray." The line fell back into static, leaving the Englishman sitting alone in the darkness of the car with his lips pursed, a deep worm of worry threading its way through his bowels.

His nerves fraying ever faster, Bruce retraced his steps, passing the ladder by. He could hear Denny up there, getting more and more limber by the minute based on the thumps and groans that reached his ears, and he considered going back up to reset the nerve holds. _No,_ he decided, continuing on. _His regret was sincere; he won't come down after me. Even if he tries, he's so drunk he'd probably fall down the ladder and break his neck._ He spared a single glance down the lightless path he had taken in, but no more. _He has no night vision and no light source that he would dare use in a cave like that. Even if I'm misreading the situation and they __did__ go that way, he should be able to get to the beach and back to Alfred, in which case I'll know he's safe before too much longer. _

A short distance later he found himself back at the entrance to the lagoon. He ducked in and behind the rock he'd used for cover before, scanning the scene. _Nothing,_ his heart fell. _Everything's the same._ _ This doesn't make sense…_ Casting his gaze about hopelessly, he noticed the gap behind the _Irish Mogul_ and felt his blood run cold. _Gallagher's boat is missing. The other two are still here, though. _One of two things had happened, he determined; either Dick, Gina, and possibly Gallagher had vanished into the dark cave and the guards had decided to monitor the beaches by boat, or his child had been taken captive along with the other two and they had all been removed from the island for some purpose. _Either way, that boat is a threat._

Bruce eyeballed the other two vessels. The odds were very good that he could manage to drive either one successfully, but he had no idea where he was going in the waters around the island, and the intense storm raging outside made wandering into unknown seas in a small craft exceedingly dangerous. _Where would they take them, assuming Dick was captured?_ he wondered.

Thinking back on the conversation he'd heard carried on in this room earlier, his eyes widened. _The one man…what was his name…Markowitz, he was the one who wanted to throw Gallagher to the sharks._ He concentrated hard, recalling the voices he'd heard and comparing them to the brief glimpses he'd gotten of the three guards as they'd walked past him. Markowitz's voice, he realized, was unlikely to have come out of the body that was currently taking a deep sleep on the hard floor; if he was going to gamble, he would bet that Dick had purposefully taken out the leader first. _After all, that's what I trained him to do whenever possible, _he sniped at to match disembodied words to barely-seen bodies was far from an exact science, but with nothing else to go on but the fact that five people and a boat were missing and that one of the guards who seemed to still be mobile had mentioned dropping captives into a feeding frenzy, there was only one conclusion he could draw. His lips whitened as he pressed them into a thin line.

_That son of a bitch is going to watch them be torn apart._

**Author's Note: Okay, readers, I am going to try my best to get you chapters over the next five days. However, I have family coming in for Thanksgiving weekend, so I can't guarantee anything. Regardless of what happens posting-wise this weekend, we should be back on track early next week. Thanks so much for reading, and double thanks to everyone who has reviewed!**_  
_


	30. Chapter 30

"…Hey, Gina?"

"Yeah?" They were curled together on the bunk, taking comfort from one another's presence and trying not to get thrown around by the storm while Dick figured a way out of their predicament.

"…Did you, uh, call me a particular name earlier?" He thought he'd heard himself called, but given how fuzzy everything had been when he first regained consciousness he wasn't sure.

"Yes. I know who you are."

"…Oh." _Shit. Bruce really __will__ kill me if he hears about that._

"I'm not going to tell anyone," she assured him. "I only said it then because I thought it might make you wake up faster."

"You really won't tell _anyone_? It's super important, Gina."

"I know. I'm not stupid, I've read comics and gone to the movies, I know how this whole superhero thing is supposed to work."

"…I'm not a superhero," he mumbled, blushing in embarrassment.

"Well fine, how this _regular_ hero stuff is supposed to work," she smiled, rolling her eyes. "Either way, I'm not telling. Is you-know-who running around the island in a mask, too?"

"…Yeah. He is."

"Aww. I'm flattered. And that's also the coolest father-son activity I've ever heard of, _not_ that I have suspicions that you two do this all the time or anything," she covered, sending him a knowing smile.

"…It's pretty sweet," he admitted. "Kinda painful sometimes," he added, raising a hand to his head. "But totally worth it."

"Especially when you get the girl at the end of the day," she smirked.

"That would definitely make the concussion seem like less of a steep price."

"Want me to kiss it better?" she asked playfully.

His eyes widened. "Um…" _Yes. Now. Kiss me now._ "I…I don't think making out is going to help us take back the boat." _Shit. Grayson, you're an idiot._

"Who said we were going to 'make out?' I only offered to kiss it better."

"Huh?" _Oh, smooth move._ "I mean…I didn't mean…"

She laughed. "I'm teasing you, you dork," she said, leaning over to press another kiss to his lips.

"…You're _really_ good at that," he sighed when she pulled away and settled her head on his shoulder.

"Thanks. You're not too shabby yourself." She draped her arm around his waist, then pulled back. "What the hell are you wearing under there?"

"Bullet proof vest. Don't mention it in front of them."

"Is it heavy?"

"Remarkably. And it makes it hard to do some of my regular moves." He frowned. "Screw it, it's going to be difficult enough to fight these guys on this boat. I'm taking it off." _Bruce won't be happy, but if I can't get out of this mess because the vest slows me down it won't really matter if he's mad at me, because I'll be dead._

"No!" she stopped him. "They both have guns, and the crazy one will definitely use his. He said back at the cave that he can't shoot me because I'm the one their boss wants, but he'd shoot you in a second. You might need it. Keep it on, please," she pleaded.

The combined force of Bruce and Gina telling him to wear it was just too much to ignore. "…Okay," he sighed. "Look, we've got to figure out what we're going to do, but I need to know what happened on your end of things. Can you start from the beginning, when they took you?"

"Sure. After you left, I was moving the bait buckets and found your shirt. I was going to run after you and give it back, maybe see if you wanted to hang out the next day or something, but Uncle Matt stopped me. He said dad wanted me to check the fluid levels in the engine, and that it was really important because he'd thought it was running rough when we pulled into port. That _was_ a big deal; if the engine goes out, we have no income until it's fixed. I figured I could just walk down the beach later on to see you, so I went downstairs. I was right in the middle of it when I heard someone come up behind me. I figured it was either dad or Uncle Matt, so I didn't even look around. Then this strange voice was telling me to stay quiet and step away from the engine.

"I turned around then, and saw that he had a gun. What was I supposed to do? I didn't know then that he wouldn't have dared to shoot me, or I would have screamed bloody murder. So I put the cap back on where I'd been testing the oil and did what he told me. He tied me up downstairs and kept me there so I couldn't see where we were going. I don't know what happened to dad or to Uncle Matt; I thought maybe they'd been taken hostage, too, but I haven't seen them since we got to the island." She paused. "Do…do you know where they are? Are they all right?"

_Oh, god. She doesn't know. She doesn't know that Bryant's dead and Matt arranged it._ He hesitated. _If she freaks out when I tell her, it's going to make it even more difficult for all of us to get out of here alive. Still…she deserves to know. She __needs__ to know; if I don't tell her now and something happens to me she needs to have the information to fight Dunaway's plan. Otherwise this will all have been in vain. _He took a deep breath. "Gina…about your dad…"

"Did they hurt him? I was afraid they might have when he didn't come after me." Her face was pinched, concerned. "How bad did they hurt him? Do you know?"

"Well…I was there, when they did…what they did." _Damn it, this is __hard__._ "I…Gina, he's a little more than hurt. They killed him." He paused, all the guilt over Bryant's death that he'd managed to suppress over the past two days flooding him as he took in the wretched shock on her face. "I'm so, so sorry," he whispered, turning his face away in shame. _I should have done something_. _I shouldn't have just hidden and watched, I should have __acted__. Fucking coward._ He knew Bruce would have something to say about his self-labeling – they had, after all, had a very pointed discussion about that word just a few months earlier – but that was beside the point. _It's not like he's around to lecture me,_ Dick thought a little bitterly. _If I hadn't gotten captured…_

"He…they…no," she moaned, shaking her head as if she could undo what she'd been told through the motion. "You're wrong. You have to be."

"I watched it happened," he explained hoarsely. "And I checked him afterwards. I'm not wrong."

"You _watched…_wait, why didn't you do anything?" She pulled away from him, her tone slipping from agonized disbelief to anger. Feeling the sudden vacancy on his shoulder and hearing the burgeoning hatred in her voice, he winced.

"I…it all happened really fast. And…I wasn't in costume. I was just _me_, and I couldn't…I couldn't risk it. I'm not allowed to do things like that out of costume." It sounded so lame to his ears, so pathetic. He didn't want it to be the truth, but it was, and he didn't want to lie to her, not even to make himself look better.

"It was a _life_. Isn't that worth risking your precious identity for?" She was lashing out now, needing to take her rage out on somebody and finding a convenient target in the boy beside her, who didn't even seem to have the conviction in his earlier action to argue about it.

"I wanted to, Gina," he explained quietly. "I really did. I'll probably never really forgive myself for not acting. But I didn't. I couldn't. And I have to live with that. That's part of the reason I'm out here tonight, trying to rescue you and get to the bottom of this."

"_You_ have to live with it? How about me? _I_ have to live with it a hell of a lot more intimately than you do."

"Gina, I-"

"No. Don't talk to me. You're the reason he's dead." She stared at him, trembling, her eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. "I never would have thought that of you. I guess you just never know who you can trust. I thought…I thought you were different. You said you were different. I should have known better."

His mouth tightened. He knew she was just using him to release the strain of what he's told her, but it still hurt. _And it's not fair. __I__ didn't kill him. I may not have done as much as she would have liked to stop it, but that's not the same._ "I didn't kill him," he said in a low voice, meeting her gaze. "The guy who shot him in the face did that. Not me."

Hearing those words, her lip quivered, and she burst into sobs. He tried to pull her close, but she resisted, and he retreated. Grimacing, he realized that he still had to fill her in on the details of Dunaway's plan to get at Bryant's land through her. "There's more I need to tell you, not just in order for us to get off of this boat but also to prevent the people who had him killed from succeeding," he told her when she began to quiet down.

"Oh, great, who else did you stand by and watch die this weekend?" He flinched visibly at that, and for a moment she felt remorse at her words.

"No one," he muttered. "But you weren't wrong a minute ago, when you said you never know who you can trust."

"What?"

"…Matt had a hand in arranging his death." The last word had barely left his mouth when her fist connected with his face. _Ow, she punches really hard,_ he groaned to himself. _That's probably going to turn into a black eye. Wonderful._

"That's bullshit," she said flatly. "That's complete and utter crap. I can't believe you're trying to blame this on him."

"I'm sorry, but it's the truth," he shrugged. "I can't change that. But I would appreciate it if you would refrain from hitting me while I tell you what else we found out. It's going to be kind of hard to fight our way off this boat if you beat me back into unconsciousness."

"…Go ahead, spin your little fairy tale," she ground out after a moment, crossing her arms defiantly.

Swallowing heavily – _if she doesn't believe any of what I tell her, we're screwed – _he recounted everything that he knew; the oil under the cliffs, Bryant's animosity towards LACPOD, the way Dunaway seemed to have bought the loyalty of virtually everyone in town and scared the others into going along. When he mentioned the developer's name, he saw her eyes narrow suspiciously, and wondered if that would be the key to getting her back on his side. Her face softened when he told her that he'd spoken with Margie, and revealed some of what the older woman had said. "So…yeah. That's about everything. Dunaway and Matt arranged Bryant's murder and, I'm guessing, your kidnapping so that Dunaway could get his hands on your land. That's…that's why he needs you alive. You're his key to that huge deposit." He paused. "Thanks for not punching me again. I'm sure you wanted to."

"…I…thanks," she murmured weakly.

"I haven't done anything worthy of being thanked for," he snorted, his mood black after the words that had passed between them. "I didn't save Bryant, and I didn't manage to save you, either. I don't blame you for feeling like I've betrayed you."

"You haven't," she said quietly. "It sounds like Uncle Matt did, though, as little as I want to believe it."

"When I realized he was here – well, on the island – I thought he…I thought maybe he wanted something from you."

"Doesn't he? He must be getting _something_ out of all this."

"I meant I thought he wanted something…you know…sexual." He blushed slightly. _Am I going to think that of someone on every case now? Is that Erwin's legacy, that I immediately suspect pedophilic tendencies any time there's a kid involved, regardless of whether or not there's evidence to support it? That's…that's so fucked up. Maybe I should talk to Bruce about this. I don't know. What could he say, really? 'Don't think like that?' It's not that easy. _

"Oh. No, he's never come off as wanting anything like that," she denied. "What made you think that about him?"

"I…it's a long story," he sighed. "It won't help us get back on land in one piece. Anyway…listen, I really am sorry about your dad. And I…I wish I could have done something. I really do, Gina. And I'm sorry you had to find out this way, but you needed to know about Dunaway's plans. Are we…are we okay? I understand if you're upset with me, but…I need to know if we're going to be able to work together to get out of here."

She considered him for a long moment. "I _am_ mad. Very mad. But I'm not so much mad at _you_ as at the situation. At all of it. You're just getting hit with it – literally – because you're the only person within reach for me to take it out on."

"You're handling it really well, you know," he told her. "Most people would be complete and total wrecks after getting news like that."

"I _am_ a wreck," she confided. "But I think part of me already knew, somehow. Dad would never have let some stranger with a gun onto his boat, and he would especially have guarded me from them. He knows Hawthorne Island like the back of his hand; it wouldn't have taken any time for him to find me, if he'd been looking. No, I think…I think I knew, I just didn't want to believe it. I spent most of the past two days crying, chained up in that cave. I told myself that it was because of what they might do to me, but…" She sniffled slightly, a few tears escaping. "…It was for him. All those tears were for him. And now…" She sobbed once, then caught herself, pulled in a deep breath, and forced herself to relax. "Now I have the chance to keep him from having died in vain. He didn't want the land to go to the developers? Well, it won't. Not so long as I can do anything about it. It's mine, and they can't have it."

"…I knew there was a reason I liked you," he said half-jokingly, staring at her in admiration. "You're really tough. And determined as hell, too."

"You're no pushover, yourself," she returned. Her head cocked to one side. "…I just have this feeling that it wasn't your dad's idea to come find me and try to figure out what was going on."

"…You wouldn't be wrong to think that," he acknowledged. It was strangely pleasant to hear someone else refer to Bruce as his dad, regardless of how opposed the man was to having that term applied to him.

"So you convinced him," she smiled. "And he doesn't seem like an easy man to convince of anything that he doesn't want to do."

"I have a bit of an in there, I guess. I know how he works, most of the time at least. I know which buttons to push."

"And it probably doesn't hurt anything that he adores you."

"Well, we've been through a lot of the same stuff," he said quietly. _It does something to you, knowing what another person's been through, going through things together like we do,_ he thought_. You get attached to them, molded in some ways, and you can't break those ties. I can read him in ways no one else can, just because I've spent so much time studying the way he thinks, and moves, and acts. He can do the same thing with me, I'm sure. _"But I don't think he's going to be able to reach us in time. We're going to have to get ourselves out of this."

"What do you have in mind?" she asked, her expression one of firm resolve as she swiped angrily at the last residue of her tears.

"There's two of them, and three of us," he reasoned. "They're armed, but we can work around that."

"The not-crazy one is sick as a dog," she disclosed. "He probably won't be any trouble."

"That makes it easy. We just have to get the other one down and tied up, then. If he's thinking, he's in the wheelhouse with Marty, making sure he doesn't drive straight to town or something. I should be able to sneak up on him." He paused. "You aren't going to like this, but you should stay here."

"Like hell. While you go up there and get shot at? Besides, my freedom's at stake, too."

"Fine." _That's about what I figured you'd say._ "But stay behind me, okay? I'm the one wearing a bulletproof vest, after all."

"Agreed." They stood cautiously, holding onto the bunk to improve their balance on the bucking floor. Dick reached for his head as the room spun. "Can you manage?" she asked, touching his shoulder. "This storm is bad."

"I can manage. I just hope the _boat_ holds out." Their conveyance creaked ominously in response as he straightened his shoulders. "That's a promising sound."

A second later, as they crept towards the deck hatch, the drone of the engine quieted precipitously. They jerked as the forward motion of the boat ceased. "We've stopped," Gina said needlessly.

"That's not good," Dick added, equally unnecessarily. "C'mon, we need to go _now_." With that, he rushed for the hatch, slamming sideways against the door to the tiny bathroom as the boat rode another wave. The pitching was worse now that they were sitting still, and for the first time he felt his stomach hitch from motion sickness. _Oh, I __so__ do not have time for that,_ he berated himself as his hand closed around the lever that would let them onto the deck.

It turned without any effort from him, and the door was yanked open, letting in a spray of water and a very wet Markowitz. The guard came down the steps, a crazed grin on his lips as the two teens backed away from the pistol he held leveled on them. He sneered.

"Going somewhere?"


	31. Chapter 31

Bruce was just deciding that it would have to be the _Coeur de Lise_ that he took when he heard someone stumbling up the corridor behind him. Pulling back as far into the shadows as he could, he waited. _It must be the lead guard,_ he reasoned. _He seemed to be completely out, but maybe I misread his condition. It can't be the police chief; he's so drunk he couldn't even manage to give himself a breathalyzer exam._

His surprise was visible on his face a moment later when it was, in fact, Denny who stumbled around the corner and into the room. _He's still smashed,_ the billionaire noted, seeing how the man was swaying as he peered around. _How the hell did he get down here without killing himself?_ "Hey," he said roughly, making the drunk's head snap around to him with comical alacrity. "Didn't I tell you to stay upstairs?"

"Look, mister," he said hoarsely, a mulish look coming onto his face, "I want to help you. I've got dues to pay for what I've done, and this might be my-" he hiccupped "-my only chance."

_This is not smart,_ he warned himself as he seriously reconsidered the offer. _You have no way of knowing where they went, there's a storm going on outside, and the person who has offered his assistance is heavily intoxicated and still coming out of being nerve blocked._ If this had been Gotham, he would have knocked him out and gone on by himself; but then, if this were Gotham he wouldn't be having half the problems that he was at the moment. _But it __isn't__ Gotham. And it's my son on that boat. That changes everything. _"…If you believed someone was going to throw you to sharks, and they directed you to drive your boat to someplace with lots of them, where would you go?" he queried.

Denny's forehead crinkled as he thought. "I dunno," he said shortly. "I mean, I hear people talk about where to go sharking, but I haven't been out to do it in a long time. I don't really enjoy fishing. That's why I became a cop," he shrugged sheepishly.

_That's helpful_, Bruce thought, sighing heavily. "We need to find Marty Gallagher's boat, and we need to find it quickly. Anything special you can do to make that easier?"

"Other'n calling the Coast Guard and reporting the boat as missing? Nope. We're outside of my jury-juris-durisjiction," he finally managed to spit out a semblance of the word. "Sorry."

"The Coast Guard…" he mused, an idea coalescing in his head. "Come on." Stepping out of his hiding place, he strode towards the fishing boat still anchored in front of the _Irish Mogul_.

"Where're we going?"

"To find Gallagher's boat," he repeated.

"You know this is a wanted boat, right?" Denny asked nervously as they mounted the ramp to the deck of the _Coeur de Lise_. "I mean, if we get seen in this…"

"If we get seen, you're the police chief. You happened to be on Hawthorne Island as part of your search for the girl, and came across the boat. I was also looking for the girl, unbeknownst to you, and you enlisted my help in getting the boat back through the storm. I don't know what to tell you if they notice you're drunk; you're on your own with that one."

"The girl!" His eyes widened as he was reminded of her. "We should help her!"

"She's not here," Bruce replied brusquely as he studied the control panel. "I already checked."

"The guards?"

"Two are missing. Two are unconscious. The missing two took Gallagher, the girl, and another hostage off the island in Gallagher's boat. At least, that's what I think has happened." When no more questions came forward, he glanced over to find the man staring at him cautiously. "What?"

"You know an awful lot about all this. You and the other one in a mask both know way more than should be possible. Who _are_ you?"

"None of your business." With that, he turned the key, conveniently left in the ignition by the men who had stolen the craft, and listened impatiently as the engine choked to life. _I should call Alfred and update him,_ he thought. _I don't dare ask this clown to drive out of here, though. He'll run into the wall and sink us._ "Go outside for a few minutes," he ordered. "I'll let you know when you can come back in."

"It's going to be cold and wet once we get out on the water," he complained.

"Well then hurry up and _go_ so I can do what I need to do before we get into the storm," the billionaire commanded. _Christ, my teenager doesn't whine as much as you do. _"And shut the door behind you." He shook his head as the other man exited, nearly tripping on his way. As soon as he knew he was alone, one hand flew to his mask, the other slowly guiding the boat out of the lagoon. _I'll try him one more time._ "…Are you there, chum?" he asked quietly into his radio. _Please answer me. Make this awful feeling in my stomach go away and __answer me__._

He waited several long seconds, but the only sound he heard was his own pulse, running, he noted, a little faster than usual under the stress of not knowing where the teen was. "Shit," he sighed miserably before flicking his transmitter to Alfred's frequency. "Alfred?"

"Have you found him, sir?" the butler replied immediately. His response was so fast that Bruce had to wonder if he'd been holding the handset in anticipation.

"No, I haven't. Based on your response, I'm guessing you haven't heard from him, either?"

"…No, sir. I have not," he replied remorsefully.

"I do have an idea of where he's gone."

"And where is that?"

"Somewhere off the island."

"…That's it, sir? 'Off the island?'" His disappointment could be heard clearly.

"I'm working on getting a more, uh, specific location," Bruce defended himself. "I just wanted to call and let you know that I'm leaving the island, too. I'm with the town police chief on Bryant's boat, the _Coeur de Lise_. I think they were taken out to sea by two of Dunaway's men on Gallagher's boat. I'm going to try and go after them."

After a moment's deliberation, Alfred decided that it would be much better for his own comfort if he did not inquire as to why anyone would take three hostages out to sea in the middle of a raging storm. _The answer is no doubt something I do not want to entertain happening to the young master,_ he told himself sternly. _That particular detail will just have to remain unknown until he is safely at home, or at least back in the car._ "…Very well," he answered finally. "Is there anything I can do from here?"

"Same as before. Wait and listen. Let me know if you hear anything."

"Of course, sir," he sighed, unable to contain the morose exhalation. "Good luck to you."

"Thanks," he replied briefly before ending his call. "I'm going to need it," he whispered to himself. Reaching back with one hand, he tapped loudly on the glass of the wheelhouse door, letting Denny know that he could come back inside.

"Whew, thanks," the drunken man slurred as he slumped on the bench inside. "We're only a couple turns out from the water now."

"Good." A silence stretched out between them. It was awkward for the police chief, who was a natural talker even sober, but he sensed that his voice was unwelcome and that pushing the other man too far would have dire consequences, so he kept quiet. _Part of my punishment,_ he decided. _I owe a debt, and I intend to pay it. If that means I have to not talk for a while, then I won't talk._

Bruce, lost in his own thoughts, didn't even register that the only sound in the wheelhouse was the gentle thrum of the engine underneath the rage of the hurricane. He had a plan to find the missing boat, but he didn't dare enact it until they were away from the island and he was certain his call would go through in all directions without interference. If they were overheard by the wrong people, there would be hell to pay, and there might not be a way out of it. He hated the risk, but not taking it was playing with Dick's life, and _that_ wasn't a gamble he was willing to make.

When they were far enough out to sea that the island was nothing more than a vague outline in the rain, he spoke. "I'm not familiar with nautical procedures," he admitted grudgingly. "Is there a particular channel that Gallagher would likely keep his boat radio on?"

"Well, generally unless you're in a conversation with someone you stay on 16. That's just kind of a rule. Then, once you get ahold of who you're looking for, you agree to switch over to another channel and finish your talk there so you don't block the line." He hiccupped, turning green as waves shoved the boat about violently. "I'm opening a window," he moaned. "You mind?"

"Go ahead." _It's better than having you lose an entire bottle of whiskey all over the floor. _As he spoke he picked up the ship radio handset, cleared his throat, and pressed the button to transmit. "Come in, Marty Gallagher," he voiced. "Marty Gallagher, come in."

"You don't sound right, mister," Denny groaned from his position by the porthole. "Anyone could tell you don't belong on a boat."

_Fuck,_ Bruce swore to himself. _I don't know the lingo, Gotham's a river city. _He'd intended to present himself as someone aboard a Coast Guard ship, running a basic radio search for Gallagher on account of his wife calling him in as missing in the storm. The danger in that, of course, would have been that any legitimate Coast Guard in the area who picked up on the signal would likely come to investigate, and there was nowhere to feasibly escape to in the middle of the ocean._ The last thing we need is to have __another__ factor in play in all of this. But if I don't sound like I belong out here, who could I be that would be looking for Gallagher on the radio? Then again, it won't matter what I sound like if no one replies,_ he glared at the receiver mounted into the boat's dash. _I'm sure he's driving, but those guards are damn fools if they've let him keep the radio on._

"…This is Marty Gallagher," came through at that moment, the voice hushed and edged with panic. "Who's this?"

"Your wife's looking for you," he said instead of answering the question in an attempt to leave himself an out if the captain wasn't alone. _An answer. I got an answer. Oh, let him be all right._

"…Are you with LACPOD? What have you done with my wife!" From the anger that suddenly tinged the words and the fact that the fisherman wasn't cut off by someone else, Bruce surmised that he had somehow managed to get the wheelhouse to himself.

"Gallagher, listen to me. I'm not with them. I need to know where you are. Tell me."

"Who is this, god damn it!"

"_A friend_," he hissed back. "Now where are you? I can't help if I can't find you!"

"…I went to Baffle Shoals," came back slowly. "He said to go someplace with sharks, but I didn't want to, and there usually aren't any here, but…I don't know, the storm or something…they're everywhere. We haven't even chummed the water, but I've already seen three fins…it's like they knew we were coming or something…" A gasping breath was drawn. "He's crazy. He's _crazy_. He's gone to get the kids, and he'll kill us all, Gina, too. He said as much, said he doesn't care anymore. He gets weirder by the second, something's wrong with his brain, I don't know..."

"Baffle Shoals," Bruce repeated. "Where is that from Hawthorne Island?"

"You've got GPS," Denny informed him, pointing weakly.

_Yes,_the billionaire cheered internally as he located the right lever and flipped the system on. _There are so many gauges to who knows what on this dash that it's no wonder I didn't see it before. _It was a little bit of a different setup than any of the ones he had experience with, but after a few seconds of fumbling he manage to locate an area labeled Baffle Shoals and set a course. "Okay. We're on our way. Keep them distracted. Don't let yourselves go into the water if you can avoid it." He couldn't help his next question. "…Is the boy all right? Is he hurt?"

"He's with you?"

"_Is he all right?!"_

"The crazy one knocked him out. Last time I saw him he was unconscious."

His mouth tightened. _Well, that explains why he didn't answer when I called him. Those bastards. _"If he's awake when you see him next, try to give him an opportunity to strike. He'll be looking for one, and the best thing you can do for yourselves is help him find that opening. Create one, if you can."

"How? He's going to kill us all, don't you understand?"

"We're coming. Just find a way to give the boy a chance to strike," he repeated forcefully.

"You'll never make it in time. It's too far from the island," wavered into the pitching wheelhouse of the _Coeur de Lise_. "We'll all be dead before you get here…I have to go." The line slid into an open hum.

"_Fuck!_" Bruce exclaimed. _No. No, no, __no__. You're wrong, Gallagher,_ his mind insisted. _Give him an opening, any opening, and he will save you all. _He almost slammed his fist into the control panel, remembering just in time that it was full of delicate instruments that he needed and turning instead to strike the plexiglass window. Shoving levers and knobs forcefully, he brought the boat up to what was probably a reckless speed under the current weather conditions and pointed the bow into the neon line on the GPS. 

"You're gonna capsize us!" Denny screamed at him as they began to catch air off of the high swells. Bruce turned to rebut him, and was thrown into the captain's chair as a wave struck them from the side. The boat listed, but regained her balance just in time to launch off of another wall of water.

"We're out of time!" the masked billionaire shouted back, holding the wheel in a death grip and struggling to keep the boat headed in the right direction. "Didn't you hear Gallagher? We have to get to them _now!_" _I'm losing him. I can feel it. Gallagher is panicked, I don't know that he heard a word I said about giving Dick an opening. If he can't get the upper hand, they don't stand a chance, not against the storm __and__ sharks. If they hit that water, they're dead._

The police chief suddenly fell quiet, his face dawning with understanding. "He's yours, isn't he?" he asked slowly.

"What?!" Bruce snarled.

"I thought he looked younger than you." Clutching the wall as they dropped off a ridge with a shudder and lurched forward, he turned a commiserating look towards the man driving them deeper into the maelstrom. "But you look so much alike, especially in those masks…well, and I was drunk. Still am, thank god, or I'd probably be shitting my pants about now. But he's yours, isn't he? He's your son."

"…Maybe you're not a half-bad cop after all, Denny," he managed. "_Maybe_."

The local nodded. "Sure. I understand. But you should know…" he trailed off, his eyes growing distant and cloudy. "…I had a son, once."

Bruce didn't have to ask to gather that the man before him had had the misfortune of burying his child. "…I'm sorry," he said honestly. The hardest jolt yet struck them, and both saw the colored light at the front of the boat shatter.

"Yeah. Me, too. No one should find their baby like I found my Kevin. And the devil take the moment you first read that hopeless last letter." He shook his head. "Kevin's the reason I fell in with LACPOD," he confessed. "I couldn't let anyone else in my town come home to their hopes and dreams dangling from an electrical cord." His gaze cleared, becoming intense and pointed. For a second, he almost seemed sober, and Bruce realized that this was probably the first time in many months that the real Denny had come through the cloud of grief masquerading as alcohol abuse. "I reckon you could bump it up another couple of knots without killing us entirely," he offered.

Swallowing heavily and hoping that he would never fully comprehend the depths of what his unexpected ally had been through, Bruce pushed the boat a little harder and held on.


	32. Chapter 32

"We're here," Marty said quietly, slowing his boat to a crawl.

"Shut off the engine," Markowitz commanded.

"But-"

"_Do it_, dumbass!" Marty obeyed, and the bucking immediately worsened. He fell to the floor as the guard was thrown into the wall, his broken hand smacking against the rough wood paneling sickeningly. A stream of words that even the dock-hardened fisherman found offensive left the unbalanced man's mouth. "Green!" he shrieked. "_Green!"_

"…You sent him downstairs, remember?" Gallagher said numbly as they both got their feet back under them._ Why didn't I try to jump him just now? I wasted my chance. I should have acted._ "With the kids."

"Shut up, I remember." Flipping his pistol around in his good hand, he smacked the captain across the face with the butt end, knocking him back down. "Come with me. And hurry up!"

They made their way onto the rolling deck, Marty navigating it slightly better than the guard from sheer experience. They were instantly soaked through, but their dripping state was nothing compared to that of Green, who had wrapped the majority of his limbs around the deck railing shortly after they'd left the island and had remained in that position ever since. His efforts to avoid vomiting had been unsuccessful, and if it weren't for the fact that he had taken several waves directly to the face he would have been a truly unsavory sight. Markowitz kicked him.

"Nooo…" the horribly seasick mercenary moaned.

"Get up and guard this one so I can get the kids."

"Nooo…"

"I swear to god, Green, if you don't get up and guard him I'll feed you to the sharks first!"

"I don't _care_, Markowitz!"

"Get up!" He smacked him across the back of the head, hard. "Do it or I'll drag you downstairs and drown you in your own puke."

The curled guard gagged at that, and managed to pull himself to his feet. "Okay," he complained, bending over the edge of the boat as if he were about to lose it again. Suddenly he screeched, flailing back away from the water.

"What?" Markowitz demanded.

"Sh-shark! There's a shark _right there_! I saw the fin poke up out of the water!" He'd fallen in his effort to get away from the creature, and now extended one shaking finger to point out to sea.

Gallagher swallowed heavily. _No. No, they aren't supposed to be here! There's never sharks at Baffle Shoals. Never. _He tried to calm himself. _Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe he's seeing things. Oh, god, let him be seeing things…_ His eyes swept the waves, and to his horror he was able to verify what the guard had screamed. There was a fin out there, cruising near the surface and popping up between swells. Accustomed to finding the creatures out in the open water, he was able to catch glimpses of two more lurking a short distance away, just on the edge of the light cast by the boat's deck illumination.

"There'd better be more than one around," Markowitz smirked. "I didn't come all the way out here to watch just one shark eat people. Maybe we'll throw some bait in the water before we start, see how many more we can get riled up. Green, guard this one. I'm going to bring the brats upstairs so we can get started. I think we'll do the girl first. She'll be fun."

"But the boss-"

"Oh, fuck her!" he raged back. "She'll understand. She's a little crazy, just like me. And if she doesn't…" he shrugged. "Oh, well. I guess I won't get paid. It sucks, but at least I'll always remember tonight." Grinning sickeningly, he turned and sloshed away.

"Oh, god," Green moaned as soon as the other guard had torn open the hatch into the belly of the boat and disappeared through it. _I'm going to be sick again, but I don't want to go back to the edge. I don't want to see the shark a second time. I should have just let Markowitz shoot me when we were still on land. I don't want to be a part of this…_ "You," he said weakly to the captain. "Go back into the wheelhouse and stay there. Don't…don't touch anything. I'm going to watch you from out here."

"…Okay," Marty agreed, before making his way back inside. _Do something. Do __something__ to get everyone out of this. _He didn't dare start the boat and try to make a run for it; the lock on the wheelhouse door was a joke, and there were too many windows through which he could be shot before they made any headway. His eyes fell to the radio. _Call for help. Get the Coast Guard out here or something._ The boat creaked threateningly, and he gulped, his resolve crumbling as he thought about how long it would take authorities to reach them in this storm. _Two hours? Three? We'll all be dead by then. It will be too late. They'll never even find our bodies, between the storm and the sharks. _Marty Gallagher was not a religious man, but at that moment he almost fell to his knees to pray.

Before he could, however, the ship's radio crackled to life. "Come in, Marty Gallagher. Marty Gallagher, come in." He didn't recognize the voice – it certainly wasn't any of the local fishermen, he knew them all by sound – but it had said his name, and that both terrified and elated him. _It could be one of them, looking for us, wanting to take us back to the island. Still, being chained up on dry land is better than being thrown to sharks…_ Glancing out towards the deck, he found Green crawling to the railing, completely oblivious to anything that didn't involve not vomiting on himself.

_He wouldn't be able to stop me even if he noticed,_ he decided as he picked up the handset. "…This is Marty Gallagher," he answered tremblingly, now keeping his gaze on the hatch and waiting for the crazy one to come back up. "Who's this?"

"Your wife's looking for you."

_Oh, god, Margie. They can't have Margie, too, she hasn't done anything! _His fear and distress were momentarily overridden by anger at the thought that someone had gone after the only family other than Gina that he had left, now that Bryant was gone. "…Are you with LACPOD? What have you done with my wife?!"

"Gallagher, listen to me. I'm not with them. I need to know where you are. Tell me."

"Who is this, god damn it!"

"_A friend_," came hissed back. "Now where are you? I can't help if I can't find you!"

He still didn't recognize the voice, and that fact in itself helped convince him that he wasn't speaking to anyone involved with the organization that had been slowly engulfing his town for the past few years. _I don't know if I can trust him_, he thought. _But what the hell, it's not like it can get any worse, right_? "…I went to Baffle Shoals," he revealed finally. "He said to go someplace with sharks, but I didn't want to, and there usually aren't any here, but…I don't know, the storm or something…they're everywhere. We haven't even chummed the water, but I've already seen three fins…it's like they knew we were coming or something…" He drew a gasping breath and leaned against the boat's control panel, shaking. "He's crazy. He's _crazy_. He's gone to get the kids, and he'll kill us all, Gina, too. He said as much, said he doesn't care anymore. He gets weirder by the second, something's wrong with his brain, I don't know..."

"Baffle Shoals. Where is that from Hawthorne Island?" _You mean you don't know? Who the hell are you?_ Marty wondered. _And how are you driving a boat in this if you don't even know where Baffle Shoals are? _"Okay," he heard a few seconds later as the man on the other end apparently figured something out. "We're on our way. Keep them distracted. Don't let yourselves go into the water if you can avoid it." A pause. "…Is the boy all right? Is he hurt?" There was an undeniable trace of worry in the question.

"He's with you?" Marty asked incredulously. The kid had surprised him, coming into the room the way he had, and he'd wondered how he'd gotten to the island, but the idea of his having been with an adult hadn't occurred until now. _Where the hell was this guy when the boy was tackling three armed men?_

"_Is he all right?!"_ The radio whined slightly at the aggravated pitch.

"The crazy one knocked him out," he explained quickly, quailing despite the fact that the man to whom the frustrated and angry voice belonged was nowhere nearby. "Last time I saw him he was unconscious." _He tried, _he wanted to tell him. _He really did try, but none of us anticipated the crazy one. How could we have? It was like he didn't even start feeling his hand until we were halfway out here, and now it's just ticking him off._

"If he's awake when you see him next, try to give him an opportunity to strike. He'll be looking for one, and the best thing you can do for yourselves is help him find that opening. Create one, if you can."

_Who __are__ these people? Seriously, how does he expect a kid to stand up to a gun-toting psycho on a boat surrounded by sharks in the middle of a goddamn hurricane? _"How? He's going to kill us all, don't you understand?" _There's no way. There's just no way. We're all going to die here. Probably crazy guard, too; how is he going to drive the boat back by himself in this weather? Green sure won't be able to do it for him. If he even lets Green live._

"We're coming. Just find a way to give the boy a chance to strike."

_He's so insistent about that. There's no way…_"You'll never make it in time. It's too far from the island," he tried to warn him. _Stay away. Stay away, or that creep will kill you, too. _"We'll all be dead before you get here." A sliver of light appear around the edge of the hatch, and Marty gasped. "…I have to go." He slammed the handset back into place just as a head appeared from below. _I didn't do anything,_ he rehearsed in his head as Markowitz appeared behind the two teenagers, nudging Gina in the back with his gun. _I only did what Green told me to do. __Exactly__ what Green told me to do. I didn't do anything._


	33. Chapter 33

**Author's Note: There was no two-fer Tuesday this week, so I decided to do two-fer Thursday instead. Happy reading!**

Dick's eyes narrowed as Markowitz pushed them back down the stairs into the cabin. _He's lost it,_ he realized, recognizing the look. _He's completely lost it. Oh, shit._ The voice in his head shifted, becoming Bruce's. _There's no way of predicting him anymore, if he's truly gone off the edge,_ it advised. _Just keep quiet, do what he says if you can, and try to insert yourself into any moment when he's off his guard._

"It's stuffy down here. We just wanted some air," he explained.

"Or to get a drop on me?"

"No," he shook his head. "Just air." He kept backing up even when the gun pointed at his chest stopped advancing, bumping Gina until she was flat against the wall behind him. _If he pulls the trigger, I'm probably dead even with the vest,_ he thought. _It's too close of a shot for the plates to really absorb. But Gina might be okay._

"…Who the hell are you, kid?" The question was low, more curious than threatening despite the firearm's determination to stay centered on him even as the boat slammed them about. "You sneaked onto the island, you found the cave where we were keeping her-" he jerked the barrel upwards to indicate Gina, and Dick automatically slid over to keep himself between it and the girl "-and then you did all that crazy martial arts stuff and almost got all three of us." There was something like admiration in his eyes as he aimed the pistol back at the teen's heart. "Where'd you learn that?"

"…Just faking it, mostly," he lied through his teeth. "I watch a lot of movies. You know, today's wired youth." _Am I __ever__ going to learn to turn off the sarcasm at inopportune moments?_ he groaned to himself. _Batman probably wants to smack me every five minutes when we're out on patrol. _

"That's bullshit," the guard spat. "That wasn't any movie stuff, that was legitimate. No. You've studied all of that, haven't you? And you're running around in a mask. I mean, I get it, superheroes are kinda cool, but aren't you taking it a little far? Don't you think your parents are worried?" He sneered. "You're out awfully late, little masked man. What's your curfew? I'll bet it's way past. But really, where'd you learn it?"

Dick ground his teeth. _Oh, I'm sure he's plenty worried,_ he didn't say. _And I'm sure that when he finds you there's going to be hell to pay. I just really, really hope that I'm still alive to enjoy it._ "I took some karate classes. Some taekwondo. But most people have done that. It's what parents do to net themselves three hours a week of personal time." He almost laughed at the idea of spending a mere three hours a week in training. _Bruce spent more like three hours a __day__ drilling me back when I was still learning basic fighting techniques,_ he remembered. _And he sure as hell never dumped me off at a group lesson._

"I don't believe you," he stated. "But I can't figure out where you actually came from before you showed up on the island. So, you have a choice."

"…What's the choice?"

"You tell me who you are under that mask, or we go upstairs and start throwing people to the sharks."

"…I'm nobody. Just a stupid kid who thought he could make a difference."

"Got you real far, didn't it?"

"What?"

"That sense of being able to _change_ something. Still believe that now? Still think you can change the world with a well-placed kick?"

"…Sometimes," he said honestly. Laughing slightly, Markowitz did something with his thumb, and Dick realized that the gun's safety had been on the entire time. _I could have jumped him. I could have had him, damn it!_

"…How about now? You still feel like a mover and shaker, kiddo?"

_Don't call me that,_ he bit back. It was one of Bruce's pet names for him, and he hated hearing the word issued in any other voice. "…Not at the moment," he admitted, bravado draining.

"Good. That's lesson one."

_Keep your mouth shut,_ he counseled himself as Markowitz closed the gap between them, pressing the cold metal against his forehead. Behind him, he could feel Gina shivering as her hands wrapped around his waist, pulling him against her as if by doing so she could protect him. He swallowed heavily. _Bruce…now would be a great time to show up and save the day._

"Lesson two," he breathed into his face, raising his swollen hand to the boy's mask. "Is the one where you tell me who the fuck you are, and who trained you, and why you're here now."

"No," he answered immediately, surprised when the word came out in a deadly growl. _Whoa. When did I learn to do __that__?_

Markowitz jerked backwards slightly, but recovered quickly. His broken fingers fumbled at the edges of the mask. "I'll just have to figure it out myself then, huh?"

"Good luck with that." _Quit, quit, stop saying things like that to him!_

The man paused, a ferocious frown wreathing his face. "…I could just kill you first, you know," he informed him. "Kill you, _then_ take the mask off."

_Well, congratulations,_ Dick thought snarkily. _You've just proven yourself smarter than the vast majority of Gotham's criminals. Kill me, __then__ try to take the mask off. Why do so few of them think of that? _"I suppose that's an option," he said levelly. _For all that he's unbalanced, he seems pretty entranced with this little conversation we're having. If I can keep it up, maybe I can get him distracted enough to attack._ "If you want to take the easy way out."

"Stop," Gina whispered, sounding upset.

The shift in Markowitz's face was lightning fast. "Shit," he swore, backing away. "I forgot you were there."

_Jesus, what is __wrong__ with this guy's head?_ Dick boggled. _How did he forget that she was behind me? He stuck a gun in her face just a few minutes ago!_

"Chat time's over, kiddies," he barked. "Get your asses on deck. We're gonna play a little game. The twist ending is that you all die horribly."

_That was one of the lamest lines I've ever heard come out of a bad guy's mouth,_ the masked teen decided as he obeyed. Markowitz backed up until he could step into the bathroom, then waved them past so they would have to go up the steps in front of him. _Damn, the bathroom door opens inwards. I was hoping to slam it on him…oh, well, it's wood, anyway, just like everything else on this rickety old boat. He would have just shot through it. _

He stepped out into the blowing rain and spray and was instantly sopping wet. _Shit. This…this is starting to look really bad. We might really __not__ get out of this alive. For all I know, Bruce thinks I'm still on the island somewhere._ His hand rose to fondle the broken transmitter in his mask. _I won't even get a chance to say goodbye,_ he brooded. _God, he might not ever even find my body in this mess. That sucks. I'd kind of hoped…_ He swallowed hard. _…I'd kind of hoped to be buried next to my parents someday, but…it's hard to do that if there's nothing left to put in the ground. And he doesn't even know that's what I would want. Well, no, it's Bruce, so he'd probably figure as much, but…it's still going to hurt him. A lot. Oh, man. _A flash in his peripheral vision, just recognizable as a shark, drew his attention. "Oh, man," he voiced dolefully, coming to a halt in the middle of the deck.

"Makos," Gina murmured, sticking close behind him. "There's more than one."

"Guess they're kind of pissed I caught their buddy, huh?" he tried to joke. "Here for revenge."

"Don't say that," she begged, gripping his arm tightly. They froze as Markowitz stomped past them with a baleful glare, moving to kick at Green again. "I don't want to think about that. Please."

"Gina, listen to me," he said quickly, watching their captor's attention shift between them and Green. "You're the most likely to make it back to the island. If that's the case-"

"No," she denied. He couldn't tell if she was crying as she latched onto his shoulder to keep from falling. "Stop it."

"_If_ that's the case," he repeated. "You have to tell…well, you know…you have to tell him something for me."

"…What?"

"You have to tell him I said goodbye. And that I'm sorry. And that I love him." He bit his lip, no longer caring if there was any makeup left to be mussed or if the action would lead to decreased sensitivity in a decade or two. "Please. You and I both know how it feels to not get to say goodbye to someone we love. Don't make him live with that. Not again. Please."

Her hair blew wildly across her face as the wind shifted. "…I hate you for this," she told him, her voice a barely restrained sob. "I'll hate you for real if you actually make me go through with it."

"Gonna try not to. But I have to admit," he leaned close, "I'm not feeling terribly confident about my odds right now." This time, he kissed her, and for a second the rocking boat, the sharks, and Markowitz's insanity all vanished.

"Hey! Lovebirds!" A course hand shoved them apart. "Aw, what a fricking shame," the guard mocked. "So tell me, Juliet," he addressed Gina. "After I throw him overboard and the first shark latches on, are you going to jump in after him? Commit suicide for your one true love?" He cackled. "I always wanted to see somebody do that." When he saw that his captives were less than amused, his face fell. "You two are no fun. I thought _you'd_ at least get a grin out of it. You seemed okay downstairs. Feisty," he assessed, nudging Dick's shoulder. "Nothing? Boring. So much for that. Hey, _Green_!" he called. "Get over here!"

Groaning, the other guard joined them, looking half-drowned. "Markowitz, please…"

"Feeling sick still, huh?" he asked, false friendliness suddenly dripping from his words. "Come here, we can talk by the railing."

As the insane man half-dragged the other to the edge, Dick had a terrible premonition. His legs bunched beneath him, preparing to run, to try and stop what he knew was about to happen. _Oh, god, he's going to throw him overbo-_

It was too late. They reached the rail, Green bent to retch for the hundredth time in an hour, and in the blink of an eye Markowitz had flipped him into the water. Before anyone could react, he had his gun on the teens again, not missing a beat. "Don't even think about it," he ordered, shouting over the other guard's shrieks. "Just listen to that useless bastard. Listen, and think about how you're going to top his performance in a little while when it's your turn."

Dick was nothing but senses now, watching, waiting. All his eyes saw was the flex of muscles in Markowitz's gun hand; all his feet felt was the yawing of the deck, suddenly less difficult to navigate as he stopped thinking about how to correct; all his ears heard was the unsteady _thunk_ of Green being pitched mercilessly against the hull, his screams becoming high pitched gurgles as he was engulfed in water time and again. Suddenly, the adrift guard's gasping cries rose to a horrid squeal. Markowitz grinned as he glanced over the edge. "Uh oh," he announced. "They found him."

"You bastard!" Gina screamed, remembering how Green had seemed okay once she started talking to him. "You lousy creep!"

"Oh, I'm so wounded!" the man said sarcastically. "Watch your mouth, little girl, or I'll pitch you in next." Below, the noises had stopped, fading back into the general fury of the storm. "Well, he was disappointing. You," he pointed at Dick with his chin. "Go get scaredy-cat from the wheelhouse."

"Fuck you," he stated plainly. _I am __not__ throwing him overboard in front of Gina. Not after I didn't do anything to keep Bryant from being killed._

"Big words, little man," the guard retorted. He shifted the gun to the girl. "Do it, or she's nothing but brains on the deck. I'll do her in the same way I did her dad," he smirked, looking please with himself.

Both teens froze. "You…you…" Dick heard her whining just behind him and wanted to comfort her, but he couldn't do that without taking his eyes off of Markowitz. "_You!_" She bolted around him, her face etched with rage.

"Gina!" he cried, throwing himself at her, anything to get her out of the line of fire. _I'm armored. She's not. He'll kill her._ She was a wildcat in his arms, fighting hard as he pushed her down. Somewhere very close – _too close,_ he whispered, his eyes going wide – came the report of the gun.

The impact flung him away from her. He tried to flip and land on his feet out of habit, but the ringing in his ears, combined with the unstable ship and a sudden complete lack of breath as the strike knocked the wind out of him, resulted in his merely landing in a slightly less twisted heap than he might have had he not attempted to control his fall. Pain ripped up his side and bolted through his chest. _Oh, that's just delightful,_ he moaned, staring up into the rain. Somewhere in the clouds, lightning flashed. He closed his eyes as Gina fell onto him, wailing. _She's okay. She doesn't sound like she's in pain. Well…not physical pain._

Overhead he heard Markowitz's voice. "Well. That was no fun at all. I wanted to throw him in _alive_." He kicked the boy in the side of the head, not terribly hard, but enough to hurt. Dick bore it wordlessly, not even letting his eyelids flutter, a course of action laying itself out in his mind. "I guess I'll just have to get the other one out here myself, since you obviously won't be doing it anytime soon. Damn kids, so fucking _weak_. One bullet and they're down for the count." Shaking his head, he moved off towards the wheelhouse.

As soon as he was out of earshot, she wiggled up to whisper in his ear. "Are you okay?" she asked anxiously.

"Golden," he answered, gaspingly trying to regain his breath as a grin spread across his face. _She's good. She knew exactly what I was doing. _"You just keep on acting like I'm dead as a doornail. I've got a plan. Get his back to me if you can, okay?"

"You've got it." She glanced up. "…Does it hurt?"

"Oh, god, you have _no_ idea." He'd gotten extremely lucky, he knew; the bullet had definitely made it through the vest, and he suspected that it might have broken the skin beneath, but his injuries were far from mortal. At worst, he was looking at a couple of cracked ribs.

"How manly of you," she teased.

"Screw machismo. Getting shot is miserable, even in armor."

"He's coming," she warned. "Go back to being dead." With that, she resumed her lamentations.

Beneath her, Dick struggled to keep his smile at bay. _The look on his face when I pop up and start beating the shit out of him is going to be __priceless__._


	34. Chapter 34

**Author's Note: Short chapter today, but boy is it action-packed! Happy reading!**

"Okay," Markowitz said as he returned, pushing Gallagher before him with the muzzle of the gun in his back. "I'm not very happy about what I've seen so far. Green pussied out _way_ too fast, and now this one's-" he gestured towards Dick, still sprawled across the deck "-gone and made me shoot him. You two," he snarled, pushing the fisherman to the deck, "are going to perform better. Got it?"

Gina didn't look up from where she was busy dispensing crocodile tears. Marty attempted to crawl to her, but was kept at bay by the guard's pistol. "Gina," he called, his voice distraught. _He killed him, _he thought numbly._ The bastard actually killed him._ He'd seen the whole thing from inside, although he hadn't been able to hear the words that had electrified the girl and driven her to leap at the armed man. _I should have been out here with them, but…I couldn't. I couldn't. I was too scared. I was too scared, and now look what's happened. It's more than just him, she saw it all happen. He was saving her life. How will she live with that, knowing he died for her?_ "Gina, come here. Leave him be."

"_No!_" she shrieked back at him. "I won't!"

"Gina…"

"Both of you, shut the hell up!" Markowitz commanded. His eyes fell on the tableau of grief he'd created. "Guess I got Juliet to cry, after all," he smirked. "You want me to finish you off now, make it hurt less?"

"Gina!_" Oh, god, leave her alone, leave her __alone__, kill me instead, please…_

"I…I…" She didn't know how to answer. A no might be taken as a challenge to do it simply because she didn't want him to, but failing to say yes would make her woe less believable, potentially sundering the whole plan. After a moment of indecision, she settled for breaking down into more crying, plastering herself back over the other teen. _He is really good at this,_ she thought. _I'm screeching right in his ear and he isn't even flinching._

"That's not an answer, you little bitch!"

"I'm s-s-_sorry_," she whined plaintively. _I've got to get him turned around, Dick said. Get his back to him._ "M-m-marty," she sobbed. "I d-don't want to die like this." She couldn't look at her godfather as she choked out the words; she loved Marty Gallagher dearly, but he wasn't the brightest bulb in box, and he had no way of knowing that this was an act put on to throw Markowitz off. She could imagine the pain she must be causing him right now, and didn't want to see it confirmed on his face.

"I know, sweetheart, it's okay," the fisherman tried poorly to comfort her from several feet away. "It'll be okay, we'll be home soon, and Margie will…Margie will bake us a nice chocolate cake, okay?"

"I w-want dad…" _Oh, Marty, I am so sorry to be doing this. I just don't know any other way to save us than to put my trust in Dick._

"…I know," he whispered. _Hell, __I__ want your dad right now,_ he commiserated. _He always had more spine than me. He wouldn't be frozen here with fear, that's for sure._

"Heeey," Markowitz broke in, his lips spreading into a horrific smile. "I've got an idea. How about a double feature?"

"A…what?" Marty repeated, craning to look up at him in confusion.

"A double feature," the guard repeated. "It's so _precious_, isn't it? Girlie here loses her dad, but her godfather – although I have to say, you're not doing Vito Corleone justice – decides to take on something much bigger than himself in his stead. Second daddy comes to save the day! Oh, look," he pulled a sad face. "It's not working, though, is it? Everybody's dying, and you can't stop it. All you want to do is comfort her, right? Make it all go away? Turn her back into the sweet, innocent little girl you remember?" When Gallagher merely stared at him, aghast, he shrieked for an answer. "_Right__?!"_

"I…yes…of course I want-"

"But the big, bad man with the gun won't let you, will he?"

"…No."

"I have a solution." Turning away from the teens, he bent down to spit his suggestion into the fisherman's visage. "You're gonna jump in _together_. Then you can comfort and hold her just like she was your very own, right up until the sharks tear you apart. Would you like that? Would that be a good way to-" His words cut off as a black-clad fiend landed on his back, forcing him to the deck.

Marty scrambled out of the way of the fight and moved to Gina, who remained on her knees where Dick had lain a few seconds before, watching with her hands over her mouth. "He's not dead?" he asked, gripping her arm tightly. "How is he not dead? He looked dead!"

"He's just that good, Marty," she disclosed distractedly. _I didn't even realize he was moving,_ she gasped internally. _One second he was under me, and the next he was just…gone._

His eyes followed hers to where the boy, his knee now firmly entrenched against the crazed man's spine, brought his fist down on the hand still clutching the pistol. There was a sickening crunch, audible even over the storm, and both spectators winced. The gun slid away, and Gina quickly retrieved it, crawling to reduce her risk of being thrown overboard by the swells as she neared the edge of the deck. Picking it up, she glanced towards the masked teen just as he delivered a determined blow to his adversary's skull. Markowitz stopped struggling suddenly, and for a moment there was no sound but the wind and water.

"Holy hard-headedness," Dick muttered, returning the small fist weight he'd used to subdue the man beneath him to his utility belt. _This creep has a ridiculously thick skull,_ he thought. _Wow, that hurt __way__ more than it usually does. I didn't think I hit him wrong, but with the way the boat's pitching, my aim might have been a little off._ He momentarily considered striking him again, just to be sure he was out, but decided against it. _I don't want to cause him permanent damage. I want the courts to be able to see how utterly insane he is, so maybe they'll throw him in a padded cell and drug him into submission for the rest of his natural life._ _Still, I should zip-tie him; even with two broken hands, he'll be dangerous when he wakes up._ Shifting off of him, he was preparing to pull the guard's other arm out from beneath him when Gina spoke.

"Do you hear that?"

He looked up at her, then listened intently, finally zeroing in on the distant sound. "It sounds like a boat motor," he replied. "It's off, though, isn't it?"

"It is a boat motor," Marty confirmed, staggering to his feet in order to peer out into the blackness that began some ten feet off the edge of the deck. "It sounds like that because it's wave skipping. I'll bet it's that fellow I talked to earlier. He's gonna capsize it, running like that in this weather."

"…_What _fellow?!" Dick screamed at him.

"The one you're out here with, at least I figured he's with you. He called in on the ship radio when the loon here went down to get you two."

_Bruce,_ he thought desperately_. He came out after me. He'll flip his boat, and there are sharks. Shit._ Leaving Markowitz to roll about on deck, he bolted unsteadily for the wheelhouse. _I can talk to him. I can radio him. I can tell him I'm all right. I can tell him to slow down before he gets himself killed._

His fingers were just turning the doorknob when the _Coeur de Lise_ dropped off a high wave and slammed into the bow of their ship, throwing him inside and against the control panel painfully. _Gina. Bruce. Markowitz. __Bruce__, _he flailed mentally as his head connected with the plexiglass windshield. Darkness intruded on his vision, and he slumped to the floor. _Markowitz…can't let him get away. Bruce…crashed? Bruce…_


	35. Chapter 35

It was sheer luck that Bruce even saw the lights of the other boat from so far away. He knew from the GPS monitor that they were getting close to the Shoals, but looking outside was so confusing it made him feel sick. There was no guarantee of what would be visible from one second to the next; sea, black air, and swollen clouds all took their turn filling up the windows, switching every time they crested another swell or were shoved sideways by the merciless winds.

Somehow, though, he had caught the flash of brightness, glancing up at just the right moment as they hit the peak of a high roll of water. "There!" he shouted, rising from the seat he'd been clinging to for nearly half an hour. He was immediately cast into the wall, but he pushed off of it with a growl, one hand groping at his utility belt as the other opened the wheelhouse door.

"You'll be killed out there!" Denny called after him anxiously.

_Not before I make sure he's okay, I won't be,_ Bruce swore stubbornly to himself. Yanking a length of high-tension rope out of a compartment, he made his way to where he could see forward and tied himself off to a handhold. Grabbing his binoculars, he switched on the night vision and swept them over the heaving ocean, peeking between waves and hoping against hope that he might see the light again.

_There!_ It was gone in an instant, but now that he'd oriented himself he thought he could keep fairly good track of its location. He zoomed in to full magnification, wiping mist from the lenses continually and shifting his position so that he stayed focused on where he believed the other vessel to be. Finally, the moment came; the deck beneath him rose sharply, almost lifting him off of his feet as it raised him above the surrounding waves, and his view was filled with what he'd been searching for. He got just a fleeting glimpse, a snapshot really, of the back deck of Gallagher's fishing boat, but what he saw in that half second was enough to make him choke on a cry of denial.

A man on his knees, what appeared to be a scream leaving his lips as he reached out past the only standing figure, who held a gun easily in one hand. Beyond them, under the scrutiny of the pistol, were the two teenagers, the lighter haired one clutching desperately at the masked figure sprawled, unmoving, below her. _No. Not him. Not __my__ child. Please._

He kept the glasses riveted to his eyes, pleading for it to have been a mistake, a momentary cerebral misfire brought on by intense worry. The second look he was granted a few moments later, however, only strengthened the dark tendrils snaking around his heart. _He looks…he looks…she wouldn't be crying like that if he was just unconscious from before…he wouldn't just __lay__ there unless...oh, god, no. No. No! _"Why?!" he gave a banshee cry that tore away from his lips in the wind. For a moment, his mouth hung slack, his breathing rough. Then his eyes narrowed.

_I'll fucking kill that rotten son of a bitch._

Dick had been the force that had stayed his hand with Erwin; but if he was gone, there was nothing that could keep Batman from tearing whoever had been responsible into pieces. Closing his eyes, he let it come, snapping his jaw shut and freeing himself from the anchor around his waist. The hurricane faded into mere background noise, light interference in the pitch black soundtrack of mortally wounded rage that flooded his brain. He stalked back inside, stumbling only slightly.

It had never been quite like this before.

"What did you-" The police chief broke off at the toothy snarl that turned towards him. _Oh, god. That's…that's not the same man who went outside. What did he see out there to make him into this? What __could__ he have seen, at this distance?_ He had a terrible suspicion but denied it vehemently to himself, not wanting to ever watch another person – even a stranger – go through the pain he had known so intimately. His eyes widened as the throttle was pushed up to maximum. _We're going to die tonight. The boat will break up under the strain, and we'll die…Huh. Never thought I'd be this calm about it, though._

Still tuned to their destination, the masked man held the wheel of the _Coeur de Lise _so tightly that the metal began to deform under his grip. _Element of surprise. Ram them, get on board, and get hold of that murderous bastard. _The words became a litany, rolling through his head over and over again. As they drew closer, Gallagher's boat showed itself more frequently. He didn't look directly at it; he didn't need to. He knew where it was, and what it contained, and that was all the fuel he could handle. Adding more to the fire coursing through his veins would lead to an explosion from which no one would be safe.

There was a final vault skyward, and then they were falling, hitting the craft below them so hard that the splinter of wood drowned out the wind. Both men were catapulted violently forward, but the one wearing a mask not his own barely seemed to notice the inconvenience. Reaching over, he smacked his hand down on a bright red button marked 'emergency engine shutoff,' then turned on his heel and strode outside.

Picking himself up with a groan – _shit, I think my arm is broken_ – Denny stared through the windshield as the dark figure jumped onto the vessel they'd collided with and disappeared towards the rear deck. _God, I hope his kid is okay. I don't know what made him…__transform__ like that, but I really hope it wasn't anything bad with his boy. No parent should have to bury their child. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy._ He paused. _I should follow him. I need to find out if the girl's okay. I owe her that much, at least. _Sighing, he followed slowly.

On the floor of Marty Gallagher's wheelhouse a few minutes after the crash, Dick stirred. _Why, Bruce? Why did you crash your boat into ours? I mean, the element of surprise is useful and all, but this is a little overboard, don't you think?_ He smirked. _Ha. Overboard. Wait…_ Green's screams sounded in his memory. _Okay, I guess that's not going to be funny for a little while._ Moaning, he opened his eyes.

The world was still terribly off balance, and his head hurt like an absolute _bitch_, but there was a familiar sound out on deck. _It sounds like when Alfred really goes to town on a steak with a tenderizer,_ he thought vaguely. _But he's not here, so what…_ The only other thing he'd ever heard quite like what was reaching his ears now was when Batman was really laying into someone. _Oh, no. _Leaping to his feet, he intended to dash out the door to stop his mentor – _I already knocked him out, you're just going to make him useless, or worse, dead – _but had to wait as a spike drove into his brain from one temple to the other. _C'mon, c'mon,_ he coaxed himself impatiently, moving as soon as the pain would let him. Stumbling onto the deck, he surveyed the scene.

Marty was hunched beside the hatch to the lower level, blood pouring from his nose, his eyes closed. Gina leaned against his shoulder, a disturbed but mildly pleased expression on her face as she witnessed what was being done to Markowitz a few feet away. Over the now very battered guard stood Bruce, raining down the punches that the teen had heard clearly from inside. _No,_ he realized. _Not Bruce._ The posture, the intensity, the rage; they all screamed someone else. _Batman. A royally pissed Batman. _"Stop!" he shouted as loudly as he could.

Something snapped inside of him as the one-word injunction reached his ears. Bruce froze, staggering momentarily not from the shifting of the boat so much as from his sudden regaining of control. In one hand he clutched the beaten pulp of one of Dunaway's guards; his other was poised in mid-air, prepared to strike again and again until there was nothing left to hit. But…_I would know that voice anywhere. It's impossible, after what I saw a little while ago it's __impossible__, but still…_ He had to know for sure. Dropping his victim without a second look, he swiveled in the direction of the sound and took in the most beautiful sight of his life. "Dick?" he whispered, so overwhelmed with relief and astonishment that he didn't even notice the name exiting his mouth.

His son _saw_ the shape of the word, though, and paired with the expression on the man's face it was enough to give him a rough idea of what had been going through his mind when he'd laid into Markowitz. _If he thought I was dead…if he happened to catch a glimpse of the boat when I was faking it, waiting for an opening…no wonder he couldn't hold it back. Oh, Bruce, I am so sorry._ The deck wasn't broad enough to require more than a few running steps towards the stunned man before he felt himself being lifted completely off of his feet, half-strangled in a crushing embrace.

_I would have killed him_, Bruce mused as he squeezed the teen in his arms. _I would have destroyed that son of a bitch if he had actually…if you were really…if…_ "You have a _lot_ of explaining to do," he told him, voice laden with tears.

"You saw me acting, didn't you? Just a few minutes ago." The words were muffled due to the fact that his face was buried against the billionaire's neck, but he knew they'd been understood when the grip around him tightened painfully.

"…Yes. Oh, god, Dick…"

The intensity of those four words struck him. _That's the second time in the space of a minute that he's used my name, despite our being in masks and around other people. Not that anyone can hear him, but still…he never breaks that rule. He was __really__ scared. _Gulping as pain flared in his side under the pressure of Bruce's arms, he nuzzled into his shoulder before speaking. "…This is great and all, but do you think we could finish this hug in a slightly safer location? Like, maybe after we've secured the asshole and got the civilians to land?"

Bruce laughed hoarsely. "That's my boy," he hissed in his ear before releasing him. He couldn't quite stand to let him go, though, and cupped his face with both hands. "…He didn't actually shoot you, did he?"

"Oh, he did," he verified. Seeing a flash of the Bat behind his eyes, he clarified quickly. "Minor. My ribs are going to be sore as anything when all this adrenaline wears off. But I've had plenty worse." He chose not to mention the multiple blows to the head that were still making his vision a little blotchy in places.

He studied his face anxiously. "…Okay," he nodded finally, releasing him reluctantly. "You take care of 'asshole,' as you've dubbed him. I want to speak with Gallagher and find out our odds of getting through this storm."

"Sure thing," he grinned before dropping to one knee and pulling a fresh zip tie from his belt. The sight made Bruce's lip tremble, but he bit it back and moved to where Marty and Gina were still hunched, Denny loafing nearby.

"Everything all right, mister?" the police chief asked, a knowing look in his gaze.

"…Yeah," he answered gratefully, casting a glance over his shoulder to where Dick was already dragging Markowitz upright to lean against the railing. "Everything's all right now."


	36. Chapter 36

"Okay," he said authoritatively. "Gallagher, we need to get out of this storm. Are there any safe places to pull into nearby?"

"…Not really, no. The coast through here is mostly rough rock." Holding a soaked handkerchief to his nose, he peered up at the standing man. "We can't go anywhere in my boat, anyway. I looked downstairs a minute ago; she's taking on water fast."

Bruce felt a lance of guilt slide through him. "…Are you insured?" _Not that I won't be replacing it with something much nicer anyway, but I can't exactly come out and say as much right now. _

"Yeah, but…" he shook his head sadly. "My granddaddy built this boat. It's been in my family for three generations."

"…I'm sorry," he apologized sincerely. "I couldn't see any other option at the time." _I thought my son was dead. I had to get my hands on the bastard I thought did it. There was no other way…_

"Well, at least we're all safe now," Gina cut in. "It's okay, Marty. You can have the _Coeur de Lise._ I guess….I guess it's technically mine to give, now…" She trailed off as the strain and grief of everything that had happened over the past two days finally hit her. Burying her face in Gallagher's shoulder, she began to sob quietly, letting loose real tears this time. The fisherman pulled her close, neglecting his still-dripping face in favor of trying to comfort the girl he had always thought of as a daughter.

"Hey." Seeing Denny jerk his head, Bruce followed him up towards where the modern fiberglass craft had split the deck of the old wooden one. "I figure they need a minute. I just wanted to say…well…I'm glad your boy is all right."

"Yeah…Me, too." He surveyed the damage, not wanting to think about the gaping hole he'd felt in his heart when it had seemed that Dick was lost to him. "…Listen. He and I…we need you all to keep what you know to yourselves."

"Don't really know much to be telling, to be honest, mister."

"You know enough. More than you should, preferably, but it couldn't be helped. I wouldn't ask you to do it if it wasn't a matter of extreme importance."

"…I'm just a simple small town cop," Denny shrugged. "All I know is that two fellows in masks came around, took out all the guards, and then…what? Disappeared, I reckon? Is that what you're going to do when we make landfall?"

"Yes. With any luck we'll be able to split off from the rest of you before we encounter anyone else."

"…How are we going to get out of this, though? The storm's awful, and I wouldn't be surprised if there are still sharks around. Didn't Marty say earlier he saw sharks?"

"Yes. We'll need to get everyone onto the _Coeur de Lise_," Bruce told him. "It doesn't look too badly damaged. Then hopefully we'll be able to separate from this wreck and get somewhere safe without capsizing. That's about all we can do." He frowned. "There should be someone on the other boat, just in case it gets pushed away. You wait up there, in the wheelhouse. I'll tell the others."

"I'm not much of a hand with a boat," Denny reminded him. "You got us out here, maybe you should-"

"I'm not going aboard without my son," he interrupted stubbornly. "You'll manage, if you have to." 

"…Well, you're the boss," the police chief sighed, cradling his injured arm as he began to climb laboriously back onto the still-intact vessel.

Bruce watched him go, then leaned forward to peer at the cleave he'd made in the deck. The boats were struggling against one another, straining under the waves that struck their hulls at strange angles, and he could see water gushing in below every time the _Coeur de Lise_ pulled back slightly. _We've got to get off of this thing,_ he grimaced. _If they pull apart, it won't be afloat very long._ His feet carried him unstably back around to the rear of the ship. "Head up front," he ordered Marty, who was still rocking back and forth with Gina in his grasp. "Get onto the other boat, quickly."

"C'mon, baby," the fisherman urged her to her feet. "Let's go home. Margie's probably having kittens about now."

The girl wiped her eyes and gave him a tiny smile before she sniffed and addressed Bruce. "You'll get…?" She didn't say his name, instead just inclining her head to where the other teen was kneeling in front of the unconscious Markowitz.

He nodded. "Go, now. We'll talk once we're away from here." _She's tough,_ he appreciated as she helped her injured godfather move towards the bow. _I hope this means he's got a knack for picking strong women. God only knows there's no place for the weak ones in our line of work._ Musing on that, he moved to the railing and rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. "We should get out of here."

"I know. We're sinking, right?"

"Yes."

"…You'll have to help me with crazy; he's heavy."

"Sure." Bending, he grabbed Markowitz's feet as Dick clung to the guard's shoulders, and they started towards the more seaworthy craft. "You weren't kidding," he called over the wind. "He weighs a ton."

"Told you. His head is like a rock, I practically broke my hand when I hit him."

"You had him out cold, though. He didn't even flinch when I started on him."

"Second time's the charm, I suppose. He's the one who knocked me out on the island."

"How?"

"He punched me with a broken hand." Seeing Bruce's eyebrows go up as they moved carefully onto the narrow strip of deck that led alongside the wheelhouse, he nodded. "I know, right? I couldn't believe it either. But then again, he's clearly psychotic, so-" He broke off as they were shoved into the wall by a sudden surge. The boat tilted upwards almost forty-five degrees, and both of them dropped their respective ends of the unconscious man in order to grab onto the nearest handholds. Behind Bruce, the _Coeur de Lise_ also rolled perilously to the side, then began to slide away from her disabled sister. Looking up to find Gina screaming soundlessly at him from the safety of her father's ship, Dick's eyes widened. "Bruce!" he hollered, knowing his guardian couldn't see what was happening from his angle and that no one else stood a chance of hearing his name. "We've split! They're floating away!"

_Goddamn it,_ the billionaire cursed to himself, craning his neck around to try and see how far their destination now was from them. _We'll have to use the grapples to pull ourselves over. I hate to do it, they're a known Batman tool, but we couldn't jump that gap even if we didn't have a dead-weight prisoner to carry with us. _"Go!" he commanded. "Use your grapple and _go_!"

"What about crazy?" came shouted back.

"I'll bring him. Just go, I'm right behind you!" he insisted as the front of Gallagher's boat, now completely open to the pounding surf, slipped down into the water.

_I don't want to leave you with him. I'd rather we went over on the same line_, Dick fretted as he reached for his belt with one hand. There was no way, though, that one rope could hold all three of them. Pulling out his grappling gun, he met Bruce's eyes for just a second. _You better be __right__ behind me,_ his gaze relayed fiercely.

_Go. Don't wait for me. __Go__,_ the billionaire's shone back.

The teen extended his arm, aiming for the railing of the _Coeur de Lise_. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, another massive jolt struck them. Both masked figures managed to keep from being thrown over, holding tight to the wall, but the insensate Markowitz was less fortunate. He flew into the railing like a rag doll, momentum pushing him up and over until his center of balance hung out over the water. Then he plunged downwards, completely unaware.

Dick bolted for the edge the instant he realized what was happening, and just managed to get ahold of the guard's ankle. _It's too much, _he realized immediately. The thought gave him just enough time to move one of his hands back onto the railing before he, too, was flipped over it.

He hung, breathlessly clinging to the side of the boat and to Markowitz, for what felt like forever. The plates of his vest dug offensively into his shoulder as he struggled to keep the captive from falling completely into the ocean, and his injured ribs sang joylessly with pain. Wrapping his fingers into the man's bootlaces, he tried to heave him upwards, hoping to keep the high waves from hitting them both quite so hard, but it was no use. _This is seriously the second worst day of my entire life,_ he decided as he felt himself losing his grip on the rail. _No question about it. _Two strong hands closed over his arm just as he slipped, one pinching his wrist as the other entangled its fingers with his. Looking up, he could see Bruce mouthing something, but the freezing water that kept blowing into his face made it difficult to tell what it was.

For all that the masked man didn't believe in such things, he was now beginning to wonder if his dream of losing Dick to the sea had been a premonition. He had lived plenty of nightmares, to be sure, but usually the real-life horror preceded the night terrors. Wrapping his legs around the vertical bars of the railing as he grasped wretchedly at his son's arm, he couldn't help but imagine an alien-like creature reaching up to claim the boy for itself, just as had happened in his dream. The storm they were trapped in had certainly stirred up the sharks, after all, and hadn't Aquaman said before that there were plenty of strange things, unknown to man, that lurked in the darkest depths of the world's oceans?

He yanked upwards, every muscle straining to fight the finale of that crushing vision, striving to change the course of events that had replayed in his slumbering mind so many times in the past months. He tried to relay most of the force through the hand grasping the teen's wrist, not because he honestly believed his fingers would pop off as they had in the nightmare but because all of the logic he possessed couldn't make him forget how it had felt when they'd done so. Somewhere close by, there was a dire cracking sound, and the railing shifted slightly beneath him. _It's too much weight,_ he panicked. _…We have to drop Markowitz. There's no other way out. I can't lift them, and I can't even let go with one hand to try and grapple onto something and give myself that extra pulling force or he'll slip. If he hits that water, it's over. He'll be crushed against the boat, or drowned, or eaten, and I won't be able to do anything._ He didn't like it, not in the least, but if he had to choose between the life of a crazed killer and that of his son, his partner, his _everything_, there was no competition. Hating himself a little, he opened his mouth and screamed, hoping his words would be audible. "Let him go! _Drop him!" _

Dick stared upwards, shaking his head, completely unable to make out what his guardian was telling him to do. "I can't understand you!" he yelled back. _And he probably can't understand me. Great. This is __exactly__ what I imagined we'd be doing on vacation. _When he'd considered the kinds of problems they might face in trying to rescue Gina and solve Bryant's murder, dangling from a sinking ship in the midst of a hurricane while trying not to let an insane killer fall had not occurred to him. Even if it had, he probably would have written it off as too absurd. _I should know better by now, after running with Batman for so long. The only thing unlikely to happen when you're wearing a mask at his side is for everything to go smoothly._

The situation was getting more extreme by the second. His arms were already numb, his fingers frozen; every muscle ached from a combination of his injuries, exhaustion, and the struggle of keeping upright on the unsteady boat. Markowitz, he knew, was bleeding, and there was no doubt in his mind that some of it had made it into the water. If there were still sharks nearby, they were likely honing in on their position at this very moment. _And makos can fly,_ he reminded himself. _So even out of the water, we could be totally screwed._

He pursed his lips as an unpleasant idea skipped through his brain. _I could let go of Markowitz,_ he realized. _I could let him fall. Bruce would be able to pull me up, no problem, even with the bulletproof vest; the extra person is what's got us stuck like this. How can I, though? I'd be sentencing him to death. But he __is__ a murderer…He shot Bryant point blank by his own admission, he tried to kill me, and he threw Green, who was on __his__ side, to the sharks. And he enjoyed doing all of those things._ His fingers slackened on the guard's boot for a second, then tightened again. _No. No, it's wrong. If I let him go, I'll never be able to forgive myself. I don't want to die like this, but living with the knowledge that I killed another person, even a complete douche like Markowitz, would be worse._

His reverie was ended as the boat shifted violently, rearing up into the air. The stern hovered, slowly rising ever higher as the craft was sucked into the ocean. At this new angle, the waves didn't so much wash over him as slam him into the hull angrily. "Ow!" he couldn't help screaming as his damaged side collided with tarred wood.

The blow had the unfortunate effect of startling Markowitz back into the land of the living. Dick looked down as the foot in his hand twitched, then kicked. "Quit it!" he screamed uselessly. "I'm trying to help you!" The guard flailed harder, his face twisting into a rictus of fear and anger as he found himself suspended over the ocean with his hands bound. "Stop struggling, you idiot!" The teen was _really_ tempted to let go now, but before he could talk himself back out of just giving the man to the sea, it took him for itself.

Both of them saw the shadow just before it broke the water. The masked boy gasped and pulled his legs up instinctively; the guard just gave a blood-curdling shriek as his head and shoulders disappeared into the carnivore's gaping mouth. Knowing that there was no helping him now, Dick pulled his fingers free of the man's shoelaces and stared in disbelief as he was pulled beneath the surface.

A heartbeat later he was on the precariously tipped deck of Gallagher's boat, Bruce's arms nearly breaking him in half as they wrapped around him. After a brief second during which he would have sworn he heard his guardian all but wailing in his ear, they were flying through the air, tiny drops of seawater lashing at them cruelly. He felt them land on the _Coeur de Lise_, and lowered his feet to the tossing – _but not,_ he noted, _sinking –_ deck. Still tight against the masked man, the teen opened his eyes and watched the last third of Gallagher's boat plunge into the dark water.

"…Bruce," he whispered as a hand wove through his hair and gripped the back of his head possessively. "…It's okay now."

There was a moment during which he received no response. "It will be, chum," came back finally. "It will be." A pensive pause. "Alfred's going to skin us alive."

"Oh, god," the teen groaned. "He'll never let us go on vacation _again_."

"We might be able to convince him to let us go to a deserted island where there's no chance of us encountering other people. Maybe. I kind of doubt it."

"Think Uncle Clark will let us borrow the Fortress of Solitude?" Dick joked.

"I'm going to let _you_ make that request." _Although if it was you asking, he'd probably say yes. Hell, he'd probably offer to fly you there, hang around to see how you liked it, and then suggest a snowball fight._

"…It'll never work. Alfred will remember that there could be polar bears. Although, after sharks, I think I could take on a polar bear."

"Let's never, ever test that theory."

"Deal." They broke apart finally, letting a whole two inches of space come between them. Bruce's eyes flicked over the boy's shoulder, and a tiny smirk crossed his lips. "What?"

"I think you have a damsel to comfort," he said slyly, spying Gina standing a few feet away, barely restraining herself as she waited for them to finish talking.

She'd watched the entire ordeal, rushing over when she saw them somehow flying through the air towards the ship. As eager as she was to plant a ridiculously sloppy kiss on the other teen, she couldn't bring herself to interrupt what was clearly a very emotionally charged embrace. It was, she had thought, exactly the way her father would have hugged her at this moment, had he been alive to do so. _He might not be the nicest seeming man in the world,_ she considered Bruce, _but nobody with half a brain could ever doubt how much he loves Dick. _Then the other teen turned to face her, grinning from ear to ear, and Bruce fled from her thoughts as she dove at him.

Trying not to watch them kiss but unable to move past them onto the back deck, the billionaire just held onto the railing and smiled softly. _Still growing up too damn fast, _he sighed to himself. _But at least I get to watch it happen._


	37. Chapter 37

"Okay, kids," he interrupted gently when they hadn't stopped after several seconds. "Let's get inside. We're all soaked, and this isn't exactly the safest place to be, uh…standing."

"…Sure," the boy mumbled, blushing as he realized Bruce had been right behind him the entire time he'd been lip-locked with Gina. They staggered their way down into the cabin, where the masked man and the girl sat on opposite sides of the table. After a moment of hesitation, Dick slid in next to his guardian, feeling an arm slip around his shoulders immediately. "So," he broached. "Did you find out anything interesting?"

"…Yes." The billionaire looked at Gina, who wore an expectant but hesitant look. "How much do you already know?" he asked quietly.

"I know my dad's…dead," she whispered, lowering her eyes. "And I know Uncle Matt is the reason why. Dick said it has to do with the oil?"

"…You know who we are?" Bruce breathed, feeling his son tense beside him.

"I…yes. But it's okay, I won't tell anyone, I swear! We already talked about it, I know how important it is that no one know. I won't even tell Marty and Margie."

He nodded slowly. "I thought you might figure it out. You're a smart girl."

"It was the scar that gave me away," Dick explained, easing as it appeared that Bruce wasn't going to go ballistic.

"Mm," he grunted, turning to examine his lip. _We've really got to do something about covering it up better until it fades. _"The makeup washed off. I'm not really surprised, in this storm."

"She knew before then," he shrugged.

"No one else made sense," she said. "Even if someone else my age _had_ come after me for some reason, there's no way anyone I know can do the stuff you did back on the island, and then on the boat. That was so amazing," she beamed.

"…Thanks."

"In any case," Bruce pushed them back on track, "I appreciate that you're willing to keep it to yourself."

"I think I've put you both in enough danger already."

"Danger, schmanger," the other teen brushed off. "We're used to it."

"_Excuse_ me?!"

"I didn't hear that," Gina bit back a laugh, covering her ears. "Really, I totally didn't."

"Please don't kill me," Dick requested of his guardian, only half-joking. _That was really stupid,_ he lambasted himself. _I can't believe I said that. Why don't I just whip out a birdarang and ask if she recognizes it? Idiot._

"…You know better than that," Bruce answered slowly, not bothering to clarify whether he meant that his ward knew better than to nearly out them or to think that he would kill him.

"Yeah…Sorry…"

The billionaire sighed. "As you were told, it was primarily about gaining access to the oil. Matt was a major player in arranging your father's death," he confirmed. "But he wasn't working alone. He had an arrangement with a company called Savant Commodities."

"…So the people who have been trying to get the leases pushed through the legislature hired those guards and kidnapped me? Just so they could buy dad's land?" she asked, looking confused.

"Not quite. There's another layer to all of it. The head of the section of Savant that's in charge of offshore drilling is run by a man you're familiar with. Jack Dunaway."

"Dunaway," she growled. "As if taking the love of his life away from dad wasn't enough, he had to come back and take his _actual_ life, too? Just for some _land_? That's…that's fucking sick!" She paused, raising a hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry, I don't usually swear like that," she apologized.

"It's all right," Bruce nodded, looking over as he felt Dick slip out from under his arm. He moved to the other bench, letting Gina bury her tear-stained face against his shoulder.

"…Is there anything else I should know?" she asked a few minutes later when she had recovered somewhat.

"Yes. Jack Dunaway knew what was going on, but he wasn't the person orchestrating it." He took a deep breath, knowing that what he was about to say was the worst part. "Lise Burnham-Dunaway crafted the whole plan, more or less. She was sleeping with Matt; I heard all of this from their mouths earlier tonight. A team of lawyers is forging a will to make it look like it was Bryant's wish that custody of you and stewardship over everything he left be given to Lise, since she's your biological mother. As soon as that was settled, she was to sell your land to Savant, or at least allow them access and use privileges. She and Dunaway stood to make a lot of money, and the courts aren't likely to object, since the sale would be a substantial increase in your assets. They arranged for you to be kidnapped because it would have looked too suspicious if the local police hadn't called in Social Services for you after your father was killed. With you missing, they were able to hold off on doing so, giving Dunaway's lawyers time to work."

"…That bitch," she moaned, her cheeks wet. "That complete bitch. I hate her. I hate her so much…" She shook her head angrily. "But what do you mean about the police? They…" She paled as she saw both of the males' mouths tighten. "They weren't in on this?" she gasped.

"They were," Dick whispered. "Practically the whole town was. LACPOD," he reminded her. "We don't think they knew much about the specifics – unless you heard something different?" he asked Bruce. Receiving a negative response, he went on. "But they knew enough."

"…Everyone turned on him," she said sadly. "He trusted them, he helped them when he could, and they betrayed him."

"I'm afraid people do that to each other far too frequently," Bruce commiserated.

"Marty and Margie are still totally on your side, though," Dick added.

"Denny's up top with Marty," Gina frowned. "But if the police force was part of LACPOD…?"

"He was on the island tonight because he was helping Dunaway," the masked man acknowledged. "But he had a wake up call, and insisted on helping me. If you can, try not to hold it against him. It sounds like he's had some rough times recently."

"Kevin," she whispered. "He fell apart after that happened. I always liked Denny. He used to give me a lollipop every time he saw me, when I was little."

Dick looked confused, but didn't say anything. _He'll fill me in on the details later,_ he knew. _We're going to have to tell Alfred all of this stuff, too. Ugh. God, I'm so tired. I just want to go to bed._ "How are we going to break this?" he asked.

"Once you and I have cleared out, I think the easiest thing would be to have Denny call out the Coast Guard or the state police," Bruce ventured. "He can give them the details on Bryant's murder and the kidnapping. Gina, you can tell them about the oil side of things. Make it sound like you overheard a lot while you were being held on the island and kind of pieced it together for yourself. Try to downplay our role, if you can; I'm sure Lise will tell them about me, but the less they know about our involvement the better." _If nothing else, maybe we can keep the fact that there were two of us out here tonight under wraps. Lise wouldn't have seen Dick, so that's feasible._ "There shouldn't be any problem getting people to start talking once they realize it's all coming apart, and there's plenty of physical evidence back in the cave."

"So my mother and uncle are going to jail. I swear, I'm going to have to move to another town after this is all done…"

"…Your uncle won't be going to jail."

"But you said you heard him admit to arranging dad's murder!"

"Yes. He did. And then Lise killed him." He glanced away from her frozen expression. "I tried to stop it, but I couldn't get inside the room fast enough."

"…You know what?" she puffed. "That's…that's okay. I mean, it's not _okay,_ but…it's okay. I loved him, but what he did…what he did was so wrong. I wish he hadn't died, but…I can live with it." She craned her neck to look up at Dick, whose shoulder her head still rested on. "Does that make me a bad person, do you think?"

"No," he answered. "I think that makes you human."

"Good." She sat up and nudged the boy, wanting out. "Thank you for telling me all of that. And for finding it out, too, of course, and coming to save me, and…and all of it. If you don't mind, I'm going to go up to the wheelhouse and talk to Marty. He needs to know about this, too. I think…I think I'll ask if he and Margie would be willing to take me. I don't really have anywhere else to go, and I don't think they'd mind. I'll let Denny know what you said about calling the Coast Guard, too." Her face darkened. "And after I've done that, I'm going to start thinking of something new to call this boat. If it's mine, I don't want it named after that bitch." Standing up, she brushed her lips across Dick's cheek. "You should have your dad check your head," she ordered. "You hit it enough today, after all."

"…You didn't say anything about your head!" Bruce exclaimed, straightening in his seat. _Did she just refer to me as his dad?_ his mind queried happily.

"Thanks for that," he groaned.

"No problem," she smiled softly before she turned and ascended to the deck.

He glanced over to find Bruce giving him a stern look. "I did too tell you," he pouted. "I told you Markowitz knocked me out, remember?"

"And the other times?"

"They…well, they weren't as hard, I guess," he said lamely. "Except maybe when you crashed a boat into us and I got thrown into the windshield," he shot. "That one hurt."

"Come here. Let me look."

"You'll have to take the mask off to really do it right," Dick said as he slid in next to him. Fingers began testing the sides and back of his head, and he closed his eyes. Even when a sore spot was found, it was still nice to feel those worried hands doing their work. He knew Alfred would insist on repeating it himself later, but for now he was content to just let Bruce be as thorough as he wanted. _I freaked the hell out of him, I think, so I'm not going to complain if he takes his time to realize that I'm fine._

"We're not taking them off until we're back in the car," he said firmly, feeling the teen slumping slightly under his hands. He'd finished checking for cranial injuries, noting a couple of bumps as well as the bruising that was just visible along the edge of one side of his mask, and was now just massaging his scalp, combing his damp hair back and grateful to have him safe beside him. _He's earned a little relaxation. He ran a great investigation, took out the bulk of the bad guys, and freed the hostages. He even got the girl,_ he smirked. The look softened into a wistful smile as his son gave in to his exhaustion and snuggled against him. "Tired?" he teased, shifting so he could hold him more comfortably.

"Mm-hmm. Aren't you?" he yawned back.

"Yeah. It's been a long weekend." He squeezed him, evoking a tiny hiss of pain. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he shook his head, digging it deeper into the crook where the man's neck met his shoulder.

"…Is that where you were shot?"

"…Yeah."

"Sit up and let me see," he frowned.

"It's fine! It's fine. You just bumped it is all. You can look at it all you want later, okay? Just…I just want to sleep right now…"

"…Okay," Bruce agreed slowly. "But you know Alfred will have a fit when he hears you didn't let me check it."

"Mmph. I know. I'll deal." He was silent for a moment. "…Shouldn't we call him and let him know we aren't dead?"

"Oh, _shit,_" the billionaire cursed. _How did I manage to forget to do that? _One hand left Dick's side to flick the channel to Alfred's frequency. "Alfred? Can you hear me?" _He might not be able to, I haven't tried calling for a while and the storm's gotten worse since we spoke last._ As he'd feared the case would be, all he got was static. "No good. He's probably having a damn heart attack worrying," he sighed. "Speaking of radios," he addressed the figure in his arms, "why didn't you use yours to call me when you woke up on Gallagher's boat?"

There was no answer. "…Dick?" Listening to him breathe, he realized that he'd fallen asleep. Quick on the heels of that thought was the discovery that his own eyelids were dangerously heavy. The boat was still pitching as they fought their way through the hurricane to land, but he trusted that Gallagher knew what he was doing. Their ride thus far had been much smoother than the way out, at least, and that was enough to convince him that he could safely take a nap. "You're a bad influence, kiddo," he breathed, leaning forward to rest his head on top of the teen's.

Gina came back down a few minutes later and couldn't help but grin at the pair. _I barely even know them, but that is painfully adorable,_ she shook her head in amusement. "Sleep tight," she whispered, turning off all but one of the cabin lights. "You earned it."


	38. Chapter 38

**Author's Note: No second chapter today, I'm afraid, but this one's nice and long. Happy reading!**

"…Hey, Bruce?"

The murmur was sleepy, but it got his attention. "Hmm?" he replied without opening his eyes.

"…I think we're almost there."

Listening, he had to agree. The boat was no longer rolling dangerously from side to side, but the engine still hummed beneath their feet, propelling the craft forward. _Gallagher must have brought us back to the island_, he realized. _If one of the guards we left here has woken up…_ He sat up. "Let's get on deck. There could be resistance when we get to the lagoon."

"Okay," Dick yawned back, sliding out of the seat. Standing, he stumbled and nearly fell, only remaining upright because Bruce grabbed his arm.

"Maybe you should stay down here," he frowned. _Maybe I should re-check those bumps on your head,_ he mused privately.

"I'm fine," came back insistently. "I'm still just tired, really. Plus, this smooth ride is kind of messing with me. We've been dancing with the ocean for the last couple of hours, so I wasn't expecting to be able to just stay in place without fighting for it."

"…Fine. If you're sure, then lead the way." _That way if you fall off of the ladder I can catch you._

There was no need for the extra precaution, however, and upon discovering that they were still traversing the rock corridor that led into the underground port they headed for the wheelhouse. "Hey," Dick greeted, moving to sit next to where Gina was slumped, eyes half-closed, against the wall. As soon as he was seated she leaned over and placed her head on his shoulder, mumbling something that made him laugh.

"How much further?" Bruce queried, leaning over Marty's shoulder to peer at the instrument panel.

"About five minutes. We haven't called anyone yet; Gina said you'd need some time to get away first."

"Yeah. We will. Thanks."

"Least we can do," the fisherman shrugged. "The two of you saved our lives."

"In more ways than one," Denny added. "I don't know if the town's ever going to come back together after all of this, but…I'd rather starve on assistance than eat well on blood money. I'm just glad I realized that before it went any further."

"You're all right, Denny," Gallagher commented. "Everybody makes mistakes. Myself included," he joked. "My wife's gonna smack me upside the head with a frying pan for coming out here after Gina and not bringing her." His eyes narrowed. "I hope she didn't already call the Coast Guard on account of me not coming home."

"If she did, I don't think Hawthorne Island would be the first place they'd look," the police chief opined. "And we haven't heard anyone calling for you on the radio, so…"

"She said earlier she thought you were mad at her for an argument you guys had this morning," Dick pitched in.

"Oh. Well, maybe she figures I decided to sleep in the boat tonight."

"Listen," Bruce interjected, knowing that time was short. "There were a couple of guards left on the island. They were both unconscious when we left, and one was tied up, but that doesn't mean that they haven't regrouped, or called in reinforcements. We need to be extremely careful going in."

"What did you have in mind?" Marty asked.

"You keep driving. I'll take care of any threats. Denny, you and the kids go downstairs and wait."

"Hey, I'm a police officer," Denny frowned. "I should be up here, screwed up arm and all."

"You've lost your mind if you think I'm going to go twiddle my thumbs while you're up here having all the fun," Dick crossed his arms petulantly.

"And there's no way I'm going to be the only one left out," Gina added. "I mean, if people are going to shoot at my boat, I need to be a witness so that I can give the insurance company all the details. The damage to the hull from the crash will be difficult enough to explain."

"…That's awesome," the teen beside her grinned. "That's like…business badass, right there."

Bruce just sighed. "So everyone is staying up here, regardless of what I say?"

"Yup," came three voices.

_Oh, Christ. _"There's not much cover outside," he pointed out. "Where will everyone go if someone starts shooting?"

"We might as well just stay in here," Dick suggested. "At least until we see if we're going to run into anyone. I don't really see how we can be safely deployed otherwise," he shrugged.

The billionaire gave him a considering look, then glanced out the window at the open deck. _He's not wrong,_ he determined. _The only place the offers any cover at all is the far side of the wheelhouse, and we can get there from here quickly and easily if the need arises._ _Besides, he's done so well this far…_ "We'll go with that, then," he agreed.

"And just in time," Marty said, pointing out the front windshield to where the gravel beach was just coming into sight.

"Everybody down," the masked man hissed. They all obeyed, dropping so that their heads were below the bottom of the windows. The only person who couldn't hide was Gallagher, who had to see in order to steer. "How's it look?" Bruce asked up at him.

"I don't see anyone…Wait!" he peered forward as everyone tensed. "…There's someone on the deck of the other boat, but I think he's tied up. Yeah. He's stuck in place."

"He's awake, though?"

"Yeah, he's struggling. Looks like he's not having much luck."

"Thank god for zip ties," Dick whispered fervently. Bruce shot him a smirk.

"No one else around?"

"Nope. Not that I can see." There was a gentle _thunk_ as they bumped into land. "…I think it's all clear."

"Stay down," Bruce ordered sharply when he noticed Dick preparing to peek outside. _You've already been shot once today. _Waiting until he was back on the floor, the man stood slowly, told everyone to wait for his all clear, and then walked cautiously out onto the deck. Surveying the strand, he had to agree that they'd gotten lucky; no one was waiting for them. Just as he was about to duck back inside and tell everyone they could come out, a muffled scream reached his ears.

"What was _that_?" his partner asked, appearing suddenly at his side.

"…I thought I told you to wait?" Bruce arched an eyebrow down at him.

"When there was no gunfire after the first five seconds, I knew we were clear," the teen shrugged. "Baddies love taking potshots at you. I figure it's something chemical, so the lack of your, um, usual headgear wouldn't matter. But seriously, what was that noise?"

The masked man gave a slightly evil little grin. "That would be Lise Burnham-Dunaway," he informed him.

"…What'd you do to her?" he asked as another miserable wail cut the quiet of the cave.

He glanced back to make sure they were still alone on deck. Seeing that they were, he dropped his voice to a whisper, not wanting Gina to overhear if it could be avoided. _Although she probably wouldn't mind,_ he thought. _Still, it is technically her mother. _"She and Matt were in bed together when she shot him. I tied her up and left her beside him after we were done talking. She didn't seem fazed by it when I left, but…" he shrugged as a third cry lashed the air. "I guess it's started to get to her."

"_Whoa_…That's kind of harsh, don't you think?"

"I had more important things on my mind than the comfort of a murderer," Bruce countered.

"…Yeah, okay," he nodded finally. "So…nice job, I guess? It was certainly…Batsy."

"Couldn't help myself," the billionaire said in a tone of self-pardoning.

"Meh. We all have those moments. Hey!" he protested when Bruce reached over and ruffled his hair suddenly. "What was that for?"

"Nothing in particular. Just felt like doing it." _No telling how much longer you'll let me get away with it, _he sighed. _Have to get things like that in while I still can._

"What's with-"

"Is it clear?" Gina asked, leaning out carefully from the doorway. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You can come out," the billionaire nodded to her. "We weren't talking about anything important."

"Just your creeping dementia," Dick muttered under his breath. "Uh…hey," he managed to grin lopsidedly when there were suddenly feminine fingers on his scalp.

She giggled a little, her lips inches from his. "Your hair's all messed up," she advised, pushing it back into place. "…This piece won't cooperate. Is it always like that?"

"Uh…" _It's so weird, I've kissed her like a half dozen times now but she gets all close and snuggly like this and it throws me totally off kilter…_

"Yup. You should see how much he spends on product," Bruce contributed, unable to pass up a chance to play the parental embarrassment card.

"Hey! Family secrets, you jerk!"

"Aw, leave him be. I think it's cute," she said feistily.

"Oh, god, you two are teaming up against me already. This is just _wrong_," the boy groaned. The words were barely out of his mouth when his guardian grasped both his and Gina's wrists and pulled them down.

"What-" the girl started.

"Shh!" the two flanking her hissed in unison under their breaths. Dick had snapped into Robin mode the instant he felt the yank on his arm, knowing that Bruce wouldn't be so rough unless it was important. His eyes swept the beach, looking for whatever it was that had set the man off. _There,_ he breathed silently, catching a moving shadow on the wall outside the entrance to the hallway. _But who…?_

"The guard you knocked out," Bruce whispered as the man came into sight. _I should have bound him when I found him earlier,_ he kicked himself. _I was so worried about finding Dick, though…_

"He looks dazed. Should be an easy takedown, he's barely on his feet," the teen replied.

"Well, you hit him hard."

"Flying kick to the back of the head. Love that move. Wish he'd stayed down longer, though."

"Three hours is nothing to scoff at." He paused. "…He doesn't realize we're here."

As if to verify that claim, the guard called out, sounding pained. "Hello? Anyone here?" The noise was apparently too much for him, as he grabbed his temples and dug his knees into the gravel. "Ah, my fucking head…where did everyone go?"

"…He didn't see you earlier, right?" Bruce queried, looking over at his partner.

"No. I don't think so."

"He couldn't have," Gina verified. "You came out of nowhere. I don't even think he felt you hit him. I saw his eyes roll back before he hit the ground."

"Really?!" the teen beamed. "Sweet."

"Stay here," the masked man growled. "And I mean that this time." _If neither he nor Lise have seen you, maybe we can get two witnesses to say they only saw one masked person. That should help throw the trail off of our civilian selves._

"But-" He turned to argue, but it was too late. Bruce had already leapt down to the beach, just clearing the edge of the water, and was halfway to the enemy. "Hmph."

The guard looked up just in time to gasp before he was rendered unconscious again.

_All right,_ Bruce considered as he tied him up. _Both of the guards we left on the island are bound. Lise is stuck, too, and seemingly starting to regret her actions. Unless someone else arrived in the interim, which I highly doubt in this storm, we should be all clear._ Standing up, he waved to the boat, signaling that it was okay for them to come down.

Fifteen feet was nothing to Dick, who jumped, flipped in mid-air, and then rolled to his feet, tripping slightly on his first step. _I hope Bruce didn't see that,_ he thought, turning back towards the boat. "I'll get you a ladder or something," he called back up to Gina, who had watched delightedly from overhead.

"Thanks. I'll get Denny and Marty."

He snatched the ramp away from the yacht and was about to start dragging it back when Bruce took it from him. "What, you want me to get the other end?" he asked, puzzled.

"You stumbled," he grimaced as he lifted the long, narrow wooden assemblage onto one shoulder.

"…Huh?" he asked, feigning ignorance as he followed him back to the _Coeur de Lise_.

"Don't play like that. I know you were hoping I hadn't seen you almost fall after you landed."

"I needed a minute to get my land legs back," the teen parried, trying to help lift the path into place. He backed off when a warning look was sent in his direction. "Bruce, I'm fine," he insisted, low.

"Funny, my legs adapted without any problems. Of course, I haven't had my head smashed into three or four different things today, either." His glare slackened into a sternly concerned request. "Just take it easy until Alfred can look at you, okay?"

_…My head __does__ hurt,_ he had to admit to himself if not out loud. _Of course, everything else does, too, but…he's right. I don't trip. _"Okay, fine," he agreed grudgingly.

"Thank you."

"...Did you call him?"

"No. I meant to try again…" As Gallagher, Denny, and Gina made their way down to the ground, Bruce took a few steps away and turned his head into his radio. "Alfred?"

"…ter Way-" The static was terrible, eating half of the response.

"Can you hear me?"

"Ve…zy."

_Vezy? What the hell…_ "Come again?"

"…Ery fuz…"

_Oh. Very fuzzy. Got it._ _Keep it short, then. _"We're safe. Repeat, both safe. On our way." He waited to see if there was a response, but all he got was white noise. "…Alfred?" Nothing. "Forget it," he gave up, shutting the radio off. _So long as he caught the part about us being safe, he'll be fine until we can make it back to the car,_ he told himself.

A hand clapped down on his shoulder unexpectedly, and he barely stopped himself from flattening Denny's nose as he whirled around. "Whoa!" the police chief stepped back. "Sorry to startle you. Just, uh…well, we figured you were about to head out, and…thanks."

"…You're welcome," he replied after a short pause. "You ready?" he called to Dick, who was standing close beside Gina at the bottom of the ramp.

"One sec," he answered. "We leave tomorrow," he reminded her.

"…Got time for a walk on the beach?"

"When?"

"Noon? Sunrise would be better, but I'll probably be here for a few more hours, at least, and I'd kind of like a little sleep."

"What if it's still raining?"

"Who cares?" she shrugged.

He grinned. "By the big boulder?"

"Sounds good."

"See you there." They both started to lean in, then realized simultaneously that three pairs of adult eyes were watching them.

"Yeah," she confirmed, blushing slightly as she pulled back. "See you there." They had just broken apart when Lise gave her loudest plea yet. "…Who is that?" the girl asked, her narrowed gaze flying to Bruce.

His lips tightened. _As nice as it is to know that that woman is having to face her crime, I was hoping she'd keep it quiet enough that you wouldn't have to hear her do it. _"…That's Lise," he admitted.

"Huh," Gina said after a moment's thought. "Is Uncle Matt in there with her?"

"I…yes. What's left of him."

"…Good. They deserve each other." Glancing disdainfully towards the _Irish Mogul_, she caught sight of the calligraphy marking her own vessel. "You know, I think there's some white paint downstairs," she announced, starting back up the ramp.

"Gina? Where are you going?" Marty called after her worriedly.

"I need something to occupy myself with until the Coast Guard gets here," she told him. "Getting that banshee's name off of my boat seems like a productive use of time." She paused and turned back. "Denny, Marty? You guys want to help me? One of you can call us in while I look for the brushes. I'm sure there's at least a couple around." Looking amused and stunned respectively, the two local men cast farewell nods to the masked duo and followed her back up onto the deck.

"That's one strong girl you picked, chum," Bruce admired when they were in the corridor and headed towards the ladder up to the lighthouse. He didn't want to try and lead Dick through the black cave system with only one pair of night vision goggles, so they would have to face another soaking in the storm.

"Yeah," he said happily. "She sure is." He fell silent, not speaking again until just before he prepared to ascend, going first at Bruce's insistence. "…Do you think it's safe to leave them alone here?"

"No one will come out in this storm other than the Coast Guard," the man answered. "And if there were supposed to be other people arriving tonight, I think Denny would have said something."

"If he knew. He told me they didn't really tell him much."

"Dick, they're fine," the billionaire coaxed gently.

"All that work…I just don't want it to have been for nothing, you know?"

"It wasn't. Do you think I'd leave if I believed there was any chance of them not being safe until the authorities arrived?"

"…No. I don't think that."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Just…I dunno. Nervous, or something."

"Maybe a little addled?" he asked, gripping his son's chin lightly and tilting his face upwards.

"…Do I seem off to you?"

"Mm. Maybe a little. Your pupils are normal, though."

"I could just be tired?"

"Yeah. Could be." His mouth twitched, and Dick couldn't tell if it was a smile or a frown that he bit back. "Get up there, Alfred's probably cursing the day I was born already."

"I seriously doubt that," the teen rolled his eyes and began to climb. He hesitated at the top, peeked over carefully out of habit, then rolled out of the way so Bruce could emerge. "Now for the fun part," he drolled as they reached the door. "Another freezing shower."

"Every time I get stuck out in the rain, I wish I could make a decent umbrella that would fit in the belt," the man shared as they stepped outside.

"Why can't you?" the boy asked, wrapping his arms around himself as they headed for the trees and the path that led back to the collapsed bridge.

"It's too much of a time waster. You'd have to fold it back up before you could chase after anyone, or fly off. I've never managed to get one that was small enough to re-pack itself with one touch. They always tangle."

"Oh. Yeah, I can see that. Even normal size umbrellas are a bitch to put back down."

"They're a what, now?"

"Really, Bruce? We're walking through a storm of epic proportions, the result of which is likely to be our butler smothering us in blankets and sitting us both down on top of a heat register for the next week, and you're concerned about my language?"

"_He_ will be."

"_He_ didn't watch a shark practically bite a person in half five feet from his face tonight. I did. I think I deserve a couple days of curse-word leeway for that, don't you?"

"…Just try to keep it minimal, okay?" _Great. Now __Markowitz__ will be haunting his dreams. That's wonderful. I wish I'd hit that deranged fucker a little harder…_

"Well yeah, around Alfred. He's going to be ticked enough as it is, I don't want to _add_ to that. You're different, though."

They walked without words for another fifteen minutes, arms brushing as they drew together, trying to feed off of each other's body heat in the downpour. The cold wind was less violent under the trees, but it still cut through to the bone. After what felt to them both like an interminable journey, they found themselves beneath the shattered causeway that had once led back to the mainland.

"Hey, Bruce? About my grappling gun…"

"Yeah?" he asked, pausing as he removed his own copy of the tool from his belt.

"…It's AWOL," the teen admitted abashedly. "I think it went overboard when I dove for crazy. Sorry."

"We've got spares at home for a reason, chum. Don't worry about it." He stepped up to him and wrapped an arm securely around his waist. _Thank god you're so light. This would be dangerous if you weighed the same as I do. _"Hold on." He fired and pushed off, feeling licks of water hit his boots as they skimmed just over the roiling channel. Landing safely on the far side, he retracted the hook and tucked the gun away.

As they turned their backs, a huge gust of wind, accelerated by the deep, narrow cleft between the island and the mainland, swept by. With a demonic whine, what remained of the Hawthorne side of the bridge collapsed, spraying seawater in all directions.

For a moment, the pair merely gaped. Then Dick began to laugh, falling into disbelieving guffaws that forced him to sit weakly down on the rocks. After a second, Bruce began to chuckle as well. _This place is cursed,_ he snorted, joining the boy on the ground. _We are never coming to this island again. __Ever__._

Their amusement waned slowly as they leaned against each other in the torrent, recovering from their spate of hilarity. "…Bruce."

"Mm-hm?"

"I _so_ don't want to walk back up that hill to the car. Aren't we, like, a mile away still?"

"Don't remind me."

"…You could call Alfred? There's no one around to see him drive down here. And this stupid vest weighs a billion pounds."

"Don't knock it," he warned. _It may have saved your life tonight._

"I know, but it's freaking heavy." He pouted, widening his eyes. "…Please?"

"Oohhh," Bruce moaned. He looked away quickly, but he could never manage to get that face out of his mind once Dick had flashed it. _The fact that his hair is soaked and makes him look like a wet puppy doesn't help, either,_ he thought defeatedly. "All right, all right. What the hell, your girlfriend knows who we are anyway."

"…She's not my girlfriend," he blushed, biting his lip.

"Give it five more minutes," the billionaire muttered before he turned his head. "Alfred?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake! _Where are you_? And it had _better_ be the pair of you!"

"…So you didn't get my message a little while ago," he surmised.

"All I managed to catch was static and something about an ear. Has one of you been injured?"

_Oh, hell. _"Well, not in the ear," he tried. There was a second of stony silence. "Uh…Alfred?"

"I sincerely hope you don't find this amusing, Master Wayne. You've given me every reason thus far to believe that it is quite the opposite."

"Of course I don't-"

"Good," he cut him off sharply. "Now then," he breathed, his effort to calm himself audible even over the radio. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Could…could you just drive down to the bridge and pick us up, please?"

"I will do so immediately, sir." The connection ended without Bruce moving. He turned with a wary look on his face to find Dick watching him intently.

"…He's totally going to murder us both, isn't he?"

"Oh, yeah."


	39. Chapter 39

They stood and moved up to the road as the car, its headlights left off as a perfunctory nod to maintaining stealth, came to a stop. Their feet had just hit the broken pavement when the butler leapt from the car and rushed around to them. "Good lord, you're both completely drenched," he griped as he pulled them into an unexpected hug. "It was cruel of you to not call me sooner, Master Wayne," he lectured as he hustled them into the backseat and shut the door. His charges exchanged a bashful look as he slipped into the front and began to turn the car around. "Take those wet clothes off immediately," he ordered as they started back up the hill. "You'll catch your deaths."

_ The moment we get back we'll need a good fire and plenty of hot liquids,_ he grimaced as he heard sodden articles hitting the rear floorboards. "Here," he passed back the blankets he had retrieved from the trunk before coming down to the bridge. "Wrap yourselves in these." _I'd prefer to examine them both thoroughly right now, but since neither of them appears to be bleeding and both approached the vehicle under their own power I'll force myself to wait until we've returned to the cottage._ He gripped the steering wheel tightly to hide the fact that his hands were shaking.

"Wait a minute," Bruce stopped his ward as he lifted his vest over his head with a hiss of pain. "Let me see where that bastard shot you."

They were both thrown forward as Alfred slammed on the brakes. "_What?!_" It wasn't that one of them having a bullet wound was unheard of, but after waiting for hours with no word other than that the boy had gone missing only to then learn upon getting him back that he'd been shot it was just enough to break his mannerly façade. _Bullet wounds are never to be taken lightly, and yet he only mentioned it in passing, _he raged to himself._ Even grazes should be attended to immediately. Has he lost his mind?_

Dick and Bruce, neither of whom had been wearing safety belts while they obeyed the butler's command that they strip, peeled themselves off of the backs of the seats. "Ow, _fuck_," they said at the same time, the boy reaching for his bruised temple, the man wiping a small drip of fresh blood from his nose.

"_What__?!"_ rang a stunned echo through the car.

"Oh, sh-" Seeing Bruce's frantic look of warning, the teen quickly changed course. "Shorry," he managed to slur the word into something that wasn't likely to earn him a death glare. "Sorry, Alfred. I, uh, took a couple punches. In the head. Little ones!" he clarified as his guardian facepalmed. "I guess I'm, uh, maybe kind of…addled?" he tried, giving the Englishman a tiny, hopeful smile. _Please don't have a coronary. Or explode. Or ground me until Christmas._

"…You were shot, Master Richard, and neither of you thought that warranted a mention before now?"

_Oh no, that's the 'you have no idea how much trouble you're in right now' tone. __Plus__ the full name. Ouch. _"…I'm only, um, _kind_ of shot?" he ventured. "I'm fine, really. I mean, yeah, technically the bullet _touched_ me, but it mostly just stayed in the vest. Which you got for me. So…thanks for saving my life!" _Aaand this is the part where he turns around and tears my head off._

Miraculously, though, the assertion that he wasn't gravely injured seemed to help dial things back slightly. After keeping his eyes locked on the boy's for several long seconds, Alfred slowly turned back to face the road. "Master Wayne, you will check the injury, _now._ When we have returned to the cottage, provided that we can reach it without either of you mentioning something _else_ designed to make me drive off the road, you will both be examined by me._ Thoroughly_ examined," he clarified, almost smirking when he saw them both wince. "Furthermore, you will give me the full – and I do mean full, I'll know if you try to leave anything out – details of your evening at that time. Is that understood by the pair of you?"

"Yes, Alfred," they each mumbled.

"Good. Now then, Master Wayne…"

The billionaire slid across the seat, still dazzled by the unusual chill that the butler's imperatives had been laced with. _That voice was cold enough to cause global glacial advance,_ he thought.Turning on the overhead light, he could easily make out a hole in the biking jersey Dick had been wearing under his armor. A quarter-sized bloodstain surrounded it. Shoving the shirt out of the way, he studied the nick in his skin closely. _If he hadn't had the vest on, he'd been dead,_ he shuddered. _Directly between ribs on an upward trajectory. That bullet would have turned half his organs into slurry._ He visibly relaxed as he probed around the wound and determined that it had just caused the shallow puncture and a mass of ugly contusions. "I don't think it broke anything," he announced, glancing up at the rearview mirror to see Alfred taking frequent peeks back at them. Judging from the pale, pinched expression on his face, he was listening to every word. "It's just very, very bruised. You'll be lucky if all the color goes away before school starts back up."

"Great, I get to spend the rest of the summer with a stiff side," the teen moped.

"Better that than dead," came from the front.

"Right. What Alfred said," Bruce nodded, picking the vest up from where it had been dropped and feeling along the inside. He found what he was looking for quickly and reached for Dick's hand, guiding his fingers to the spot. "Here," he said. "That's it."

"Suck up," he whispered as the man directed his touch. He brushed the metal nub sticking through the vest lining and winced, remembering how it had felt when it struck home. He'd been grazed a couple of times before now, but tonight had been the first time he'd taken a direct hit. "_Nice."_

"Not nice," Bruce growled back, choosing to ignore the other two words. "In no way is that _nice_, Dick."

"I meant the vest. He was so close when he pulled the trigger, I honestly didn't think it would be enough to stop it."

_I really didn't need to know that, thanks. _"I think we should make armor a part of your regular costume," the billionaire insisted, shaken.

"And I think that's a really bad idea. It's too bulky. I felt like my movements were restricted."

"Your form was at its normal level," Bruce frowned.

"But it didn't feel like it was. Plus, you only saw me do a few very basic maneuvers. I feel like it slows me down. Honestly, Bruce, if I hadn't been wearing the vest I probably wouldn't have been hit at all."

_Or you'd be dead. Not my idea of a good trade-off. _Still, though, only Dick could really know whether or not his skills had been hampered. "Well…maybe not a full armor layer, then, but we're going to figure out something to make your costume more bullet proof. No arguments," he said as he saw his mouth open.

"I wasn't going to argue. I was going to ask if I could take my mask off now."

"Yes," he replied, switching the dome light back off.

"Blankets, sirs, if you're done with the examination," Alfred reminded them tersely from up front. He had the heat on full, but the last thing he wanted was to deal with them being down with colds at the same time. _I'm still very, very upset at them both. If they get sick they'll be terribly pathetic and I'll end up feeling sorry for them. That simply cannot happen, not this time. To not call in when they are on known streets as they are wont to is bad enough, but to do the same in this situation was completely untenable._ _And to have split up on such a mission was pure foolish bullheadedness, especially when he knew the boy is romantically interested in the young lady and therefore likely to take unnecessary risks. No, they scared me half to death, and I'll be damned if they aren't thoroughly punished for it. _

"Sorry," his charges said at the same time, swiftly pulling the covers around themselves. As soon as he wrapped up, Dick felt goosebumps break out all over his body; judging from the sudden unhappy wrinkling of the man beside him's nose, he guessed Bruce had had the same reaction. _Brr,_ he complained. Not wanting to set the extremely unhappy butler off again, he clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering and pushed himself closer to the warmth he could feel radiating off of his partner.

"Jesus, kiddo, you're freezing," the billionaire observed, keeping his voice as low as possible.

"And you're _toasty…_" he moaned back happily, curling against him in order to maximize their contact. It didn't even occur to him to complain when he felt himself pulled onto the man's lap.

"…Are you both dry and warming up?" came the Englishman's voice, a painfully false cheer infused in the question.

"Uh-oh, here we go," Dick muttered so that only the person holding him could hear. "Brace for lecture mode."

"Before you start, Alfred, I _did_ try to call you from the boat," Bruce defended. "The storm caused too much interference, though."

"You aren't the one I'm displeased with regarding radio usage, Master Wayne. _You_, however, young sir, owe us an explanation for the fact that you did not call in or reply to several queries. I hope for your sake that it is a very, very good excuse."

"Oh, yeah," the billionaire remembered. _I was so happy you were safe I almost forgot to be mad that you didn't call me as soon as you woke up in the middle of a hurricane._ "Explain that."

"Well to start with, I was unconscious for a pretty decent chunk of time," he pointed out. "And after that, I _couldn't _call in. Markowitz broke my radio. I didn't have any way _to_ call you, or to hear you trying to reach me. So…sorry, but there wasn't really anything I could do." He could see Bruce frowning at him in the darkness, and wasn't surprised when fingers pressed against the side of his mask where the apparatus was contained. The same crackle he'd heard on the boat sounded, and the man hissed.

"How hard did he hit you?" he wondered.

"Like I said before, it wasn't him so much as the wall. Rough rock plus face equals ouch. Also, apparently, busted electronics."

"Thank you, Master Dick, for your explanation. Remarkably, your excuse is a valid one. It also leads directly into my next question; where were you for all of this, Master Bruce?"

"I was still on the _Irish Mogul_, I think," he answered slowly, running through the timeline of events in his head. "Tying Lise to the headboard…Yeah…"

"On a boat tying a woman to a bed. What a delightful example to set," the Englishman commented darkly.

"It wasn't like that!" Bruce snapped.

"It really wasn't," Dick backed him up, yawning as he sensed that he'd been cleared of the most serious charge Alfred intended to levy against him. "Lise is Gina's mother, you know? He was interrogating her while I was trying to free Gina and Marty from the guards. Lise was the one who planned it all. Well, more or less."

"Her and Matt," the billionaire threw in.

"Who's dead now."

"Because of Lise."

"Right."

"If you don't mind," the Englishman cut them off, "I'd like to hear this story in some semblance of a sensible order. That is why I requested that you retell it once we've reached the cottage."

"…Hey, Alfred?"

He glanced at the boy in the rearview mirror and, seeing that his eyes were half-closed as he rested against Bruce, felt some of his anger recede in favor of intense relief. "Yes, Master Dick?"

"If we're gonna talk at the cottage, does that mean we can sleep now?"

"I suppose you may, young sir," he sighed. "I don't suppose you checked him for a concussion?" he directed at his elder charge, his face relaying the message that while he was on the verge of forgiving the teen's transgressions those of the man were still very much in the front of his mind.

"I did, and I didn't find anything serious."

"…Very well." He waited several minutes to give Dick a chance to fall asleep before he spoke again. "Bruce."

"…Ye-eah?" he breathed, tensing. Alfred _never_ addressed him just by his first name; hearing it now sent a shiver down his spine.

"You had no costumes, and thus no reason for anyone you encountered to automatically fear you; you had little knowledge of the island, or of what you might find on it; and you had no backup, no police, no Dr. Thompkins or Batcave to return to if things had gone terribly wrong. And yet you allowed him to go off on his own."

"I…yeah. But-"

"It was madness, my boy, pure madness," he overrode him sadly. "I must say…I'm rather disappointed."

_Well, that stung like hell. _"Listen…I'm sorry, okay? I didn't want this to turn out the way it did, either. You know I would never give him an assignment I didn't think he could complete in relative safety."

"Ah, but you didn't give him the assignment, did you?" the butler said knowingly. "You've been letting him call the shots on this particular case, and he's been doing admirably. When he suggested that you split up, however – and I assume, of course, that it was he who made the proposal – you should have said no."

"I didn't say no because he was _right_, Alfred. He was right to have us split up. It was the most efficient method, and there was no reason at that point to believe that either of us would encounter something we couldn't handle. Plus, we still had radio contact when that decision was made, and he and I spoke several times before he was caught. He did exactly what needed to be done, every step of the way." He squeezed the slumbering teen in his arms gently, mindful of his battered ribs. "I know you might not agree, but I'm damn proud of how he handled it. All of it," he added, thinking about Markowitz and the shark. _Oh, you're just going to __love__ that, Alfred. Thank god the manor doesn't have battlements, or I think you'd probably have my head on a spike decorating the top of one after I tell you about that part of the evening._ "I know this probably looks like a string of bad decisions on my part from where you're sitting, but once you hear the whole story I think you'll understand that it really wasn't either of our faults. It was just circumstance."

"…Well. I suppose we'll see about that once I've heard the whole story."

"…Yeah," Bruce sighed, his shoulders slumping. _I hate it when he's disappointed. God, is this how Dick feels when I get mad at him? I'd forgotten how miserable it is._ "…I'm going to get some sleep until we get back, okay?"

"As you wish, sir. And," he tacked on, "please fasten the middle belt around your son before you pass out. God forbid we were to crash for some reason and he was hurt worse." He paused, waiting to hear the familiar _click_. "…Master Wayne?" he asked when there was only one.

"Yeah, Alfred?" he snapped his eyes open from where he'd just laid his head back.

"…Don't forget to buckle your own."

"You've never even had a fender bender. I'm not worried."

"Call it putting an old man's mind at ease, then." _I've had far too many moments tonight when I envisioned losing one or both of you. I may have little or no control over the actions of Batman and Robin, but I'll not sit idly by and watch either Bruce Wayne or Richard Grayson take unnecessary risks with their lives._ "If you would be so kind, sir…?"

"…I think you're going soft in your old age, Alfred," Bruce gave him a small smile as he reached up and pulled down his seatbelt. Being strapped in made holding Dick more difficult, but he worked around it, drawing only a tiny murmur from the sleeping teen as he shifted him. "Unless your goal is just to make sure I'm around long enough to deal with all the punishments you're already thinking up?"

"I believe the former is far more likely," the butler answered, returning the peace-offering look.

"Mm. Good. We'll talk later, okay?"

"Yes, sir. We will," he said firmly. _You're still in trouble, though, even if I'm not intensely mad at you anymore. _A few miles down the road, knowing that they were both utterly unconscious behind him, he bit his lip. _I hate the risks they take, but those risks are what make them the people they are. The people I love. _"Sleep well, my darlings," he whispered, dropping the car's speed down ten miles an hour. It would only give them a few extra minutes before they had to get up and move themselves inside, but it was better than nothing. _Perhaps,_ he mused, _the story, at least, can wait until morning..._

_ Oh, bloody hell,_ he shook his head. _I really __am__ going soft with age._


	40. Chapter 40

Bruce awoke in the same place he'd fallen asleep, Dick pressed against him and murmuring slightly at whatever dream he was having. Once he'd determined that the teen wasn't fixing to descend into a nightmare, he assessed the rest of the situation. _The car's running, but Alfred's gone._ _What the hell…?_ Glancing out the window, he recognized their weekend lodging. _Maybe he went inside without waking us for some reason,_ he mused. _There are no lights on, though…_

He climbed out of the vehicle, taking care to lay his still-slumbering ward down on the seat, and walked slowly up to the house. _I don't remember the last time I had this comprehensive of a full-body ache,_ he complained as he mounted the stairs. To be fair, he had put his muscles through activities they weren't used to tonight, namely the efforts involved with staying upright on a tempest-tossed boat. _The storm's a lot less violent here,_ he noted. _Maybe it's finally dying down._ "…Alfred?" he called, stepping into the dining area.

"In the living room, Master Wayne," came back. Making his way through the dark towards the back of the house, he found the butler brushing off his hands as he rose from the beginnings of a large fire. "Don't bother," he advised when the billionaire reached for a light switch. "The electricity has gone out. The weather, I imagine. I was just about to come back out for you both." He glanced behind Bruce. "Is Master Dick still in the car?"

"Yeah. I didn't want to wake him until I knew what was going on. I'll go get him."

"Wait, sir. Allow me." He waved him towards the couches. "You're barely clothed, and it's still raining. You've only just got dry, so let's keep it that way if we can."

"…Okay," he agreed, stretching out and letting his head drop to the armrest as Alfred disappeared. It was warm in the house, the cushions beneath him were soft, and it was so easy to let his eyes slip shut again…

Outside, the Englishman turned off the car before letting himself into the back seat and beginning to gently rouse his younger charge. "Master Dick?" he asked, touching his arm.

"Hm-mm," he negated, his mouth turning down.

"Come along, young sir. Let's go inside."

"'M comfy here…"

"You've got a lovely fire and a bed indoors, though. Imagine, no harnesses poking you in the back, and perhaps a cup of hot chocolate…?" _That should do the trick. Cocoa usually does, with him._

"…Is that arsenic-free hot chocolate, or are you still mad at us?" came sleepily.

"If I tell you now, Master Dick, it ruins the surprise," he deadpanned. The teen's eyes flew open in shock. As they met Alfred's and saw the joke twinkling there, he laughed, and the butler's mouth turned up into what was nearly a full smile.

"Thanks for being so awesome, Alfred," he grinned, sitting up and moving to lean against the man. "I know Bruce and I probably seem crazy sometimes, but you're so good at just rolling with it that it's scary. And I appreciate that, because poison would ruin the chocolaty goodness, and that would just be _wrong_."

He squeezed him tightly for a minute, chuckling and savoring the moment. It wasn't as if he didn't receive plenty of physical affection from the boy in the normal course of things, but he usually responded somewhat cursorily out of respect for his position in the house. Like this, though, in a relaxed setting and with his fear having only recently crested and begun to recede, he dared to hold him longer, even going so far as to let his cheek rest on raven hair for an instant. "I don't believe I packed the arsenic, in any case," he disclosed.

"What about always being prepared for anything?" Dick jested. "Isn't that, like, the family motto?"

"I assure you, young sir, I have only once needed arsenic when traveling with Master Wayne, and that particular journey wasn't one I would have termed a vacation."

"…You're going to tell me all about it, right?" the teen asked slyly. "Because it sounds like a really cool story."

"Perhaps another time," the butler allowed, releasing him reluctantly.

"You're just going to tease me with the whole arsenic thing and then leave me hanging?" he pouted. "Not cool!"

"I imagine that waiting to hear the story will be no more annoying to you than learning that you'd been shot but being unable to immediately examine the injury despite your close proximity was to me," Alfred riposted smoothly.

"…So if we go inside and you look for yourself, will you tell me the story?"

"Perhaps someday, Master Dick."

"_Someday? _When?"

"In four or five years, when you're old enough to hear it."

Groaning, Dick slumped against the seat beside him. "I'm not a _child_, Alfred!"

"You will always seem like a child to me, young sir. I assure you that once you've met someone who was born half a century after you were you will understand that. It's not a bad thing," he added, seeing a troubled look cross his face. "Rest assured that it says nothing about your maturity, which is quite advanced, but refers only to my age."

"Which is also quite advanced," the teen couldn't help but poke.

"…I believe I saw a box of cheese grits left in the cupboard by the last renter. I'd be happy to prepare a lovely, large bowl of them for you in the morning," the Englishman said as if he were offering a treat. He wasn't really, he knew; grits were one of the few things he'd found that the boy truly disliked, and the cheese variety were purportedly the worst of the lot. _Ah,_ he thought as Dick's expression morphed into one of borderline nausea at the suggestion. _There's a face for the photo album._

"…You _wouldn't. _Just for calling you old? Jeez, Alfred, have you been taking correspondence lessons in mean?"

"I hardly have the time, keeping both you and Master Wayne in line."

"Ha, ha," he rolled his eyes. "Seriously, though, you're not really going to make me eat that stuff, right?" he practically begged.

"I don't think your offenses were quite severe enough to warrant that. Master Wayne, however…"

"It wasn't his fault," Dick leapt to his guardian's defense. "It really wasn't. You should hear the story before you make him eat, I dunno, cuttlefish or something."

"Oh, yes, cuttlefish _would_ make him turn a rather interesting shade of green…" He was only half leading the boy on.

"Aaaalfred…c'mon. Don't wage gastric war, we'll all suffer. I won't be able to eat if he's practically throwing up across the table. And that would be awful, because I actually _like_ cuttlefish but we never get to have it. And what if he _did_ actually throw up? Do you really want half-digested cephalopod on the dining room rug?"

"You make a convincing argument, young sir," Alfred gave him an approving look. "Perhaps you ought to join the debate team next year. You'd be quite the star, I imagine."

"If I was losing, do you think pouting would gain me a few extra points?"

"Doubtful," he shook his head. _Although, while that wouldn't work for most people, it may just be a viable strategy in your case. Your puppy-dog look is nearly as effective as a well-timed Batglare, albeit that it works by eliciting the exact opposite emotion._ "Nor will it get you out of a proper examination," he added. "Since you're clearly awake, why don't we move inside and get it over with?"

"Okay," the teen shrugged. Alfred paused.

"…I must confess, young sir, I expected more of an argument from you."

"Hey, you promised hot chocolate and a fire. Throw a couple aspirin into that mix and letting you poke and bandage me starts to sound like a deal."

"I think that trade can be arranged," the butler sent a smile back at him as they stepped out into the rain, Dick still swathed in a blanket. _I do love it when he's so cooperative. It's a much needed respite from Master Wayne's usual stubborn griping about medical checks._

"Wow, it's dark in here," the boy commented when they stepped inside.

"The power failed sometime while we were out," Alfred informed him, flipping a switch experimentally. "And it doesn't seem to have been restored yet."

"So…how are we going to have hot chocolate?"

"It's a gas range, Master Dick. I'll simply light it with a match rather than relying on the automatic flame." Patting his shoulder, he gave him a gentle push towards the living room. "Your beverage is not in danger, rest assured. Go and sit by the fire. I'll join you shortly."

Covering a yawn with his hand – _god, how am I still tired? – _he shuffled into the next room to find Bruce passed out on one of the sofas. Admiring the now-roaring flames, he plopped down next to the man's knees and let himself fall over sideways, his head landing on his mentor's stomach.

"Gaah!" the billionaire gasped, startled awake by the sudden weight on his abdomen. "…Dick, what the hell? I was _sleeping_."

"Alfred's making hot cocoa," he answered, not moving. "Thought you'd want to be awake for that."

"…What's he lacing it with?" came snorted back.

"I already asked. He said he left the arsenic at home."

"…Huh. He normally brings that, just in case."

"I don't suppose _you'll_ tell me that story about Alfred needing arsenic on a trip?"

"Nope. You're not old enough."

"_Seriously_?! That's what _he_ said!"

"Good. Now would you move?"

"Jeez, all right," he acceded, sitting up. "Really feeling the love right now," he muttered under his breath as he moved to the other couch.

"Come over here."

"What? You just told me to move!"

"I meant move over _here,_" Bruce waved his hand at the floor in front of him. "I want to get your mask off and take a look at that bruising underneath while we wait for Alfred." His hand went to his waist, where he quickly remembered that he'd left his utility belt in the car. "…Do you still have your belt on?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"Okay, stupid question." The normally waterproof accessories had been dripping when they took them off, much to Bruce's dismay. "I guess when we redesign them we'll have to put them through hurricane testing."

"…Can we just have Alfred throw them in the washing machine for that part? I don't really feel like going out in another storm like that. Ever."

"Agreed. See if there's any rubbing alcohol in the bathroom."

"Lazybones," Dick called him, disappearing through the door at the base of the stairs and returning quickly with a bottle in his hand. "Here. You want to do the honors?"

"Sure. Sit." He moved to the floor as well, positioning himself so as to not block the light from the fire. Once they were both in position, he swiped his fingers under the edges of the mask and attempted to pull it off, but it stuck at one corner. He pulled harder, frowning.

"Ow." The complaint was mild, but Bruce still glanced towards the entrance to the kitchen in case Alfred had heard it.

"How much gum did you _use_?" he asked.

"The normal amount. I don't know why it's sticking to – _ow_!"

"Sorry. It wouldn't come off."

"That freaking hurt!" He lifted his hand to the spot just beside his eyebrow where the mask had been clinging until his guardian tore it off abruptly.

"Oh come on, you did that with the whole mask the other night."

"Yeah, but this hurt worse than that, even." Feeling something running down his face, he moaned. "Bruce. Minor problem. Call it a tactical error on your part."

"What?" He didn't have to lean in or squint to see the dark rill of blood starting down his son's cheek as he pulled his fingers away. "Oh, great. Hold on, I'll get gauze or something." He returned a moment later, one hand full of toilet paper and the other gripping a flashlight. _I hate it when he bleeds,_ he cursed, almost stomping. _It's the most horrible sight in the world._ _And I caused it this time. Good job, genius. _

"That was in the _bathroom_?" Dick arched an eyebrow as the torch clicked on. "The power must go out a lot here."

"Hold still," was all the man responded with, pressing the wad of tissue against the bleeding spot. "There's no way the gum held on so tightly that it ripped your skin like that. You must have gotten a cut when Markowitz knocked you into the wall."

"Then why hasn't it bled up to now?"

"That's right under where we normally put gum. Maybe that was holding it together."

"And you went and ripped it off," the teen shook his head mockingly.

"I'm not exactly happy about it, Dick," he said quietly. "If I'd known you had an injury there I wouldn't have pulled like that."

"I know. I'm just teasing you, Bruce. C'mon, you know that." He touched his arm when there was no response. "…Bruce?"

"…I know," he replied finally, glancing away to hide the guilt in his eyes.

"Then quit moping, huh?" He sighed when the billionaire's face remained withdrawn. "Okay, okay, I get it. I almost died like three times tonight. You don't like it when that happens. It makes you moody and anxious and dark when you think about it. But that's in the past, and right now there's a sweet fire to chill out in front of while we drink Alfred's hot chocolate, which we both know is the best in the whole freaking _world_. So really, would you just smile a _little_? Or at least not wear your funeral face?"

"…My _what_?"

"Your funeral face. Every time I get hurt, you have this expression you wear that's like someone just died. I hate it."

_I can't help it. Every time you get hurt, I can't help but imagine how it would have been if you had or did die from your wounds. _Nevertheless, he managed to pull it back. "…Better?" he asked, looking up to find Dick absolutely beaming at him in an effort to get him to play along. _Oh, hell, that smile…_ Unbidden, the corners of his mouth hitched a few millimeters upwards.

"Yup," he nodded happily, seeing the movement. "Much better."

"Here we are, sirs," Alfred swept into the room with two steaming cups in his hands. He nearly dropped them when he saw the crimson-soaked paper. "What on earth is all of that from?"

"Apparently there was a cut under the mask. The gum kept it from bleeding until I took it off," Bruce explained tersely.

"How delightful," the butler said, setting the drinks down on a side table. "Here, I'll take that from you, Master Wayne," he offered, kneeling beside them. "Hold the torch in place, if you would." He pulled the tissues back slowly, his lips pursed as he took in the damage. "Good lord, there's certainly enough bruising. You're going to have a truly spectacular black eye in the morning, young sir."

"Oh, that'll be fun to explain once we get home."

"Thank god school isn't in for another six weeks," the still-masked man said, shuddering as he thought about the last time Gotham CPS had laid abuse claims at his door.

"No kidding," Dick nodded, earning him a look from Alfred.

"If you would kindly refrain from moving, Master Dick," he requested, sounding a tad exasperated.

"Sorry."

"I think a few butterfly closures and a dressing will be sufficient," the Englishman stated. "Master Wayne, you'll find everything in the bathroom cabinet. Hold this in place," he directed his younger charge to take the tissue. "Now, let me see the other wound…"

Bruce took his time getting the needed supplies. _He's lucky to not have a serious concussion,_ he growled mentally. He knew that by morning at least the upper right half of the boy's face would be purple and black with contusions. He had felt the mask briefly after removing it and been surprised to find that the slim radio inside was broken into three discrete pieces. _It must have taken the brunt of the force,_ was all he could theorize as to why his son hadn't ended up with a cracked skull. _Damn it. I should have made him wait for me when I knew we were both in the caves. He was just a minute up the hall, we could have gone together…but I let him go alone. I let him go alone, and he would have been killed if he didn't have such unreal luck._ He punched the wall.

"…Bruce? Are you okay?" Dick called from the living room, having heard the blow. "Um, ow," he informed Alfred, who was testing every inch of his ribs, as his fingers reached more bruises.

"The bullet only just broke the skin," the butler marveled. "You do have the fortune of the devil, Master Dick. And thank god for that fact. Since you were such a good sport earlier," he said, sitting back slightly. "I'll spare you the full checks and merely ask you if you were hurt anywhere other than your head and side."

Knowing that he would be put through the proverbial medical wringer when they got home if Alfred suspected he was trying to hide an injury, the teen thought carefully before answering. "Nope," he said finally. "Nowhere else. I might have a few scratches from getting flung around by the storm, but that's it. Oh, and I'm sore all over, and totally exhausted. But other than that…"

"Very well, young sir. Thank you, Master Wayne," he said, taking the bandages. "After I've patched your head, you are to make several circuits of the room. You don't seem to have anything more than a very minor concussion – don't ask me how you managed that, so far as I can tell you ought to still be unconscious from the knock you took – but I'd like the extra reassurance. Then you may have your drink and go to bed."

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed distractedly. _Oh, damn it, Bruce, you've got that 'I hate myself' look in your eyes. Gonna have to fix that._ _I'll bet you punched the wall or something when we couldn't see you, huh? _He frowned at him, trying to ascertain the specific cause of his melancholy, and received only a slight head shake. _Later. Fine. But not much later,_ his gaze answered. Getting a grimace and a glance away in reply, he sighed. _I swear, sometimes you're more of a teenager than I am._

"There," Alfred pronounced a few minutes later. "Stand and walk, please." He nodded as Dick finished his third round of the room. "Very good. Go on, you may take your chocolate. I left the aspirin you requested beside your cup."

"_Finally_," he breathed, practically diving for it. It had cooled perfectly, and was so creamy he didn't even feel the pills being borne down his throat. "Ooh, that's a good batch," he moaned in delight.

"I'm glad you like it, young sir." Alfred turned to Bruce. "I do believe that it's your turn, Master Wayne."

"I'm fine," he answered shortly.

"Nevertheless."

"Alfred, it's two in the morning. Is this seriously what you want to do right now?"

"Not particularly, sir, but it is what you pay me for."

Suddenly, avoiding one of Alfred's 'I'm going to find something wrong with you even if there really isn't anything to be concerned about' exams seemed more important than moping. Searching for an excuse, his eyes darted to the other cup, whose steam had ceased rising. "Can I at least-"

"Master Dick waited for his, sir, you can wait for yours."

"It'll get cold."

"I'll reheat it for you."

He knew when he was beat. "Fine," he huffed, sitting down on the couch and offering a foot.

"…Sir?"

"Well, I figure you're going to go from head to toe. Tonight I'd prefer that you start with my toes."

"…I had thought to spare you the full rigor, Master Wayne, based on Master Dick's rather spirited defense of your actions in the car a bit earlier. If you insist, however-"

"No!" he snatched his foot back. "No. Not necessary. I promise, I'm fine."

"You're quite certain?"

"Yes. No one touched me. I don't need to be examined."

"Totally unfair," Dick rolled his eyes. "Not that I want you to get hurt or anything, but still, you could have taken one of the times I smacked my head."

"I wasn't exactly given that option, chum."

"Yeah, I know. But still."

"Take your hot chocolate and go to bed, the pair of you," Alfred waved them off. "I don't want to see either of you down here before ten o'clock. Is that clear?"

"No problem," the teen yawned, setting his cup back on the table as Bruce picked his up. "It's good, isn't it?" he asked, seeing him close his eyes as he sipped.

"Mmm." He drained it in one long swallow and looked down to find his ward looking at him curiously. "What?"

"How did you do that?"

"I never taught you how to open your throat?" he frowned. _What other gaps have I left in your education?_

"Only for controlling my gag reflex. That looked different."

"It is. I'll show you later, at home." Dropping a hand onto his shoulder, he propelled him towards the stairs. "Goodnight, Alfred."

"Night, Alfred!"

"Goodnight, sirs," he replied, gathering up the garbage and dirty dishes. Once they were out of sight, he shook his head. _Even without hearing the story, I would wager that they sleep in the same bed tonight. It comforts them, I suppose, knowing that the other is safe and within reach._ He couldn't suppress a yawn as he washed the chocolate cups. _It seems that it's well past my bedtime, too,_ he chuckled silently, setting them into the drain rack. Mounting the stairs, he hesitated outside of the door to his bedroom, then about-faced and snuck up to the other chamber's slightly cracked entrance. He glanced inside, curious if his prediction had been correct.

Two figures, fast asleep, tumbled together in one narrow bed.

The smile that image drew stayed on the butler's face even after he, too, had succumbed to slumber.


	41. Chapter 41

For what felt like the billionth night in a row, Dick jerked awake from a nightmare. His first thought was to get up and travel the short distance across the room to Bruce's bed, but he quickly realized that the man's arm was already around his waist. _Weird. Normally being next to him keeps the dreams away._ This had been no ordinary vision, though, and the horrors that had made it up were still fresh in his mind; those factors, he supposed, had probably been enough to override the protective veil that proximity to his guardian usually offered.

Behind him, the billionaire stirred. "Dicky?" he mumbled against his ear, pulling him closer. "What's wrong?"

"Just a dream," he answered quietly, reassuring himself more than Bruce. Reaching up, he wrapped his fingers around the thick forearm across his stomach, wanting to feel for himself that its owner was really there. "It's gone now."

"Tell me about it."

"It'll wait until morning," he shrugged, trying to make it seem like it had been nothing. "Let's go back to sleep. I'm still really tired."

"…Are you sure?"

"Yeah. G'night, Bruce."

There was a sigh above him, and slowly he felt his guardian loosen back into slumber. He closed his eyes as well, but it was no use. He couldn't stop thinking about it. Still, he didn't want to wake Bruce, and he knew that tossing and turning would do exactly that, so he lay completely still and tried to think of anything other than the scenes that flashed through his mind every time he let his eyelids drop. Just as his arm was beginning to lose feeling, he lapsed into unconsciousness.

_The boat, and the storm. Below him, thrown against the familiar green hull time and again with awful smacks, floated the bodies of Gina, Gallagher, Denny, Bryant, and a shrunken, stolen little girl whose name he'd never known. They were pulled under multiple times as the sharks circling beneath the surface enjoyed their feast. He looked behind himself and up to find an awful amalgam of Markowitz and Erwin holding onto his ankles, keeping him suspended between tenuous safety and certain death. The creepy figure laughed, and he knew that he wasn't being saved, but used as bait. _

_His eyes shifted back down, and he gasped. His hands had been empty a moment earlier, but now they clutched desperately at Bruce's, struggling to hold on in the cold spray. The beloved figure dangling from his numb fingers surveyed the carnage below, then looked up and assessed the situation above. Finally the man's eyes locked onto his own, and he instantly knew what his partner was asking him to do._

"_No!" he screamed, feeling something tear in his throat as he strove to be heard over the wind and the crashing waves. "Don't you dare! I'll never forgive you!" It was the only way out, he knew, but that didn't matter; the cost was too high. Bruce wanted him to let go, wanted him to let him fall into the bloody slaughterhouse. Then, no longer encumbered by an extra two hundred and twenty pounds, would he be able to put his acrobatics to use, to flip up unexpectedly onto the deck, take out the demon that had put them in this position, and maybe, just maybe, get safely back to shore._

_Bruce wanted him to live, but he refused. "No!" he repeated, shaking his head violently, tears pouring from his eyes only to be whipped away by the maelstrom. "I won't do it!" He knew it didn't matter what he said, though; if he wouldn't let go, the man would simply prise his fingers loose and throw himself into the water. "Please!" he begged. "There's got to be another way!" There wasn't, they both knew there wasn't, but he had to try._

_A soft, bittersweet smile crept onto features far more accustomed to grimacing and growling. He mouthed something that almost looked like "I love you" – but that was impossible, surely, even at a moment such as this – and then twisted his wrists in the iron grip holding them, dual cracks sounding as they broke at the same time. A second later, he was gone beneath the waves, a dark glut of blood staining the water as the sharks drew in._

"_No…" There was fresh laughter above him, cruel, nasty, pleased roars that inflamed his freshly maimed heart and drove him upwards on instinct. He didn't hear delighted giggles turn into tortured squeals, didn't feel the skin on his knuckles split and begin to ooze; his head was too full of that last second. The gentle smile that Bruce only ever gave to __him__. The sorrow in his eyes as he formed the last three words he would ever speak, words that he had only been able to voice in death. The dull snaps as he destroyed himself so that his son might live. When he finally came out of his fugue enough to look down, he nearly vomited at the mess he'd made of the murderer. He stumbled to his feet, backing away until he bumped into the railing._

_Bruce wanted him to live, but he refused. He couldn't. Not like this. He could already see what his death was turning him into; the Markowitz/Erwin monster's nearly dismembered state left no doubt, and no hope._

"_I'm sorry, Alfred," he whispered, sparing a single thought for the one who was going to be left to clean up after them. "I'm just not strong enough. Not without him. I can't." Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, a final concession to the quest for life that his body was still waging, and leaned back over the edge. He made no attempt to arrest the resulting plunge as gravity took over. The water, he noted just before the first chunk was torn from his sprawling limbs, was very cold._

He burst back into wakefulness with a gasping sob. "Dick?" he heard behind him immediately. Whipping around, he dove at the billionaire, so afraid still of losing him that his nails drew blood as they clutched around his neck.

"Hey, kiddo, it's okay," Bruce soothed automatically, rolling so that the teen lay on top of him. He traced up and down the thin, heaving back with one hand, leaving the other firmly around his waist. "Hush. Hush now. It's all right. You're safe. It's all over." _What did you dream about, baby?_ he mused sadly. _I know it must have been hellish. You never break down like this._ Several minutes passed, and the fury of the tears didn't slacken despite his continued efforts. "You need to calm down before you hyperventilate," he told him, hearing his breathing changing and knowing where it was going. "C'mon, little bird, calm down. C'mon, breathe with me. Nice and deep, slow, deep breaths. Hush…"

"I'm s-s-s-_sorry_," were the first words he managed. "I d-d-didn't mean t-to wake you…sh-shouldn't have fallen the _f-fuck_ back to sleep…"

"No, it's all right," he whispered. "Tell me. Tell me what happened." Dick shook his head no so hard he made the bed creak. "It's okay now. Look, you're safe. It's okay."

"Not me," he blubbered. "That doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters. Don't say things like that." Frowning ferociously, he sat up, dragging the boy along and cradling him, their legs dangling off of the bed. "Dick? You're really starting to scare me, chum. I need you to talk to me."

"I don't want to."

"Why not? Did I do something?"

"_No_. I just…don't want to think about it…please…"

"All right. All right," he murmured. "…How about if I try and figure it out, and you tell me if I'm right or wrong? Would that be easier?"

"I dunno. Maybe."

"Good. Let's try that. Okay," he breathed, stroking his hair and speaking close against his ear. _Let's eliminate the known suspects, first. _"Did it have to do with Erwin?"

"S-sort of."

"Did it have to do with anyone else we've dealt with at home?"

"No."

"So it was things from here? Or from before you were in Gotham?" _I can't imagine it having been a dream about your parents – you haven't been this inconsolable after one about them in years - but better safe than sorry._

"Here."

"Well, that narrows it down." He thought for a long moment. "…Did it have to do with the sharks?" he asked quietly. Renewed sobs told him that he'd scored a hit. "Hush, now. There are no sharks in the bedroom, I promise."

"Well, _duh,_" came sniffled back. Bruce hadn't meant for the reassurance to be taken as a bad joke, but since it seemed to calm the trembling form in his arms a little he was willing to go with it.

"…Can you try and tell me what it was?" he requested. "You can stop if you need to, but we both know it's important that you get it out."

"Yeah," he answered shakily. "I…I didn't know it was going to hit me like that. I mean, the ones about Erwin were bad enough…" He coughed slightly, his body righteously trying to stabilize itself after the crying fit. "It…it was the boat. Gallagher's boat. Everyone was…" he swallowed heavily, "everyone else was dead. I…I could see them, in the water. The sharks were getting to them."

"Okay," the man consoled when there was a break. "Was that all of it?"

"No," Dick laughed shortly. "Christ, I'm not a baby. I mean, it was awful, but that…that wasn't what set me off. So…it was just you and I left. And this other person, this…weird mixture of Erwin and Markowitz. It was totally hideous, like someone had literally just smashed two people together and called it good enough. I guess maybe it was supposed to be a picture of their screwed up personalities, I dunno. Anyway, that…thing was holding me over the edge by my ankles. It was laughing at us." His voice dropped. "…And I was holding on to you."

"Let me guess; the shark got me instead? Markowitz and I had switched positions?"

"No," he negated. "It…it was different. You…you wanted me to let go of you. It was the only way to keep both of us from getting killed."

"…Did you? Let go of me?"

"_No!_" he practically shouted, glaring at him. "Of course I didn't let go of you."

"Okay. So what happened next?" _Of course you didn't let go. You wouldn't have, the same as I wouldn't have let you go._

"You…you broke your own wrists. I was holding so tight that you used my force to break your own wrists so you'd fall." The tone of his next words was completely flat. "And then I flipped up on deck and literally killed the Markowitz-Erwin thing with my bare hands. I…I tore it to pieces. I didn't even know I was doing it." There was a stunned silence. "…Is there a garbage can in here?" the teen asked weakly.

"Next to the door, I think. Why?" Before the question was fully formed, he'd leapt from his arms and bolted for the bin. The sound of retching was followed by fluid hitting the plastic liner. Bruce winced, then got up and moved to sit beside him on the floor, holding him up as he slumped, stomach empty. "…Do you feel any better?" he asked.

"Not really." Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he turned into his guardian's shoulder.

"…Do you want to stop, Dick?" It hurt to ask that question, but if it would make these awful nightmares end, maybe it was worth it.

"Stop what?"

"All of it," he whispered. "…Robin," he clarified when he received a confused look.

"_What_?! You _did_ hit your head on something tonight. How could you even think I would want to stop that?" His expression grew fearful. "You're not going to try and make me, are you? Bruce, it was just a dream!"

"A dream that had you in hysterics and vomiting," he pointed out. "You know I won't be ashamed or upset if you _want_ to stop, don't you? I would never hold that against you. Never."

"I am _not_ stopping," he growled. "Yes, I had a shitty nightmare. You have them too, all the time, but I don't see _you_ quitting." He took a deep breath. "Do you remember what I said a couple nights ago, about how psychologists don't help, but you do? That's why I'm telling you all of this." He paused. "But if you're going to freak out, I won't. I don't want this to change anything; I just want to talk it out. That's all I need, okay? Just to talk it out."

He hugged him tightly. "Good," he said fiercely. "I always want you to do what's best for _you_, Dick, always remember that. But I don't know what Batman would do without Robin at his side."

"…Thanks, Bruce. I'm really, really glad to hear you say that." He snuggled in closer. "…There was one other thing about the dream. I…I'm really hesitant to tell you this part, though."

"Why?"

"Because I think it might scare you."

"Well, we won't know that until you tell me what it is."

"After…after I, um, killed that thing…well…" he trailed off, then let it all out in a rush. "I knew I couldn't live without you and with being a killer, so I jumped overboard."

He shut his eyes tightly. _Oh, Dicky, no._ "You killed yourself."

"Uh…yeeeah. Sorry."

"Even though I'd killed myself, more or less, so that you could live?"

"It was too high of a price, Bruce. I couldn't do it."

"…I'm a little pissed about that, I'll admit."

"I wasn't worthy."

"Huh?"

"I wasn't worthy. I couldn't carry on in your name because I wasn't worthy. If I'd been good enough, strong enough, I could have saved us both. But I wasn't. I was too weak, and I let you fall, just like I did with Markowitz…" The tears started up again, and Bruce realized what the root of the dream had been.

"It wasn't your fault, kiddo," he swore. "I was there, too, remember? I saw what happened. He was dead before you let go of him. There was no way he could have survived that."

"But I…I thought about dropping him before that," he sobbed. "My fingers actually loosened, Bruce! I almost dropped him in _on purpose!_"

"Dick, part of me _wanted_ you to drop him in on purpose, before he was bitten," he admitted.

"…Really?"

"Yes. I knew I couldn't pull you back over, and I was so afraid that…well, suffice it to say that you aren't the only one in this room who's had some pretty nasty nightmares lately."

"What was yours about?"

"What do you think it was about?" he murmured. "What do you think could make me go running to throw up the same way you just did?"

The silent words from the dream, Bruce's last in that world, flashed through his mind. "…Me?" he asked quietly.

"_Yes,_" he hissed back. "You. Always you. But do you know something? I didn't have that exact one tonight, and I suspect that I won't have it again."

"Why's that?"

"Because I _didn't_ lose you tonight. You're right here, safe, with me. The same as I am with you."

"…That's true. We're right here," he considered.

"Yes, we are. You said you saw the others, right? Gina, and Gallagher?"

"And Denny, Bryant, and…and the little girl from the hospital. Erwin's victim. All dead."

"You feel guilty about them."

"…Yeah, I guess I do. I mean, Bryant and the girl are dead. Gina and Marty both lost someone they loved, on top of going through everything with Markowitz. Denny…" he scrunched his nose. "I don't really know why Denny was there. Maybe I feel guilty for making him talk to me."

"You couldn't have helped them any more than you did, chum. And you helped them a _lot_, just so you know." He rocked him slowly. "You've got to let that guilt go."

"I know. I'm…I'm working on it."

"Good."

"But the other part will never go away completely. The part about you."

"…No. I don't imagine that it will."

"Bruce? Will you promise me something?"

"What?"

"Don't ever do in real life what you did in my dream." _If you promise that, even if I don't really believe it, just hearing the words might be enough to at least make me dream about losing you less often._

"What do you mean?"

"Sacrificing yourself to save me. Please. I don't think I could live with it if you did."

"You could live with it, and you would," he said sternly. "I can't promise you that, Dick, because it may very well be a promise that I break someday. I don't want the last action in my life to be the betrayal of something I've sworn to you."

"…Then I guess the only choice left is for me to get better," the teen said determinedly after a short silence.

"What do you mean?"

"If I get better at fighting, at predicting what the baddies are going to do next, at all of that, then it lessens the number of times that you _might_ have to metaphorically throw yourself to the sharks to save me. That's the only answer I can come up with. Train harder and longer, and kick more ass."

_And there he goes again,_ the billionaire marveled. _He has such talent for redirecting energy, whether it's using the momentum from an enemy's strike to accelerate his own movements or turning a horribly negative experience into a driver for positive change. _"I'm not one to argue with more training," Bruce allowed. "But I don't want you pushing yourself so hard that you hurt yourself, or that your schoolwork starts to suffer. Okay?"

"Sure. You'll help me, right?"

"Of course I will." He kissed the top of his head. "Are you ready to try this whole sleeping thing again, or was there more you wanted to talk about?"

Dick thought for a moment. "…I think I'm okay now, actually. I know that probably makes me sound a little unstable, seeing as how I was just bawling, but…"

"Not unstable. Resilient." _Huh. Maybe that talent of his is rubbing off a little. _

"…I can move to my own bed, if you want."

"The strangest things come out of your mouth sometimes," he sighed, scooping his son up and carrying him back to where they'd been laying a while earlier.

"Gee, thanks, Alfred."

"Ha, ha."

"Thanks for the lift. I didn't realize I was incapable of walking ten feet."

"Yeah, yeah," he mocked, nudging him over and crawling in beside him. "You loved it."

"Sure. But so did you." 

"Maybe."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I am _not_."

"…Tell me something?"

"I'm not telling you the arsenic story. You're too young. Trust me on that."

"What? No. It's something else."

"What?"

"In the dream I had…you said something to me, right before you did what you did. Three words. Your _last_ three words." Two serious gazes met. "I know you can't," he said before the man took his meaning wrong. "But I was just wondering…well, I mean…sometimes…"

"Stop," Bruce ordered him, placing a finger on his lips. "Those three words were the only part of your dream that was accurate," he informed him, never breaking eye contact. _I just hope that I'll be a strong enough person to actually say them to you when the time comes for the last thing you ever hear from me. But I think I get a little closer to being able to do so every day, because of you._

Dick didn't voice his response. It wasn't necessary for him to; his joy radiated without speech, evident in the blinding smile he gave before turning away so his guardian could spoon up behind him and hold back the dark. "Goodnight, Bruce," he whispered.

"Sweet dreams, kiddo. I want you to wake me if you want to talk some more, okay? About anything, not just the dream."

"I know. But I think it's okay now, really."

"Good. Sleep well, little bird."

"Mm-hm…" he sighed, already halfway down the rabbit hole.

_I lo-_ He grimaced. _Damn it. It shouldn't be this hard to at least __think__ the words. Fine. Compromise._ He clasped him possessively. _You're mine. And I will always defend you with my life._ Closing his eyes with a vague sense of victory, he breathed him in and was lulled into exhausted ease.

_Always._


	42. Chapter 42

Alfred was making breakfast, his shoulders still tight with stress after the night before, when Dick came downstairs. "Good morning, young sir," he greeted him. _Good lord, the side of his face looks terrible,_ he thought, observing the plum-colored bruises stretching out from underneath the gauze taped alongside his eye.

"Hey, Alfred," he yawned back, wincing as the motion pulled on swollen tissue. Stretching, he came into the kitchen to investigate. "…Please tell me those aren't cheese grits," he said in a tone of dread as he spied a covered pot on the stove.

"I'm afraid it's merely oatmeal."

"…So we _are_ being punished gastronomically," he pouted.

"Look in the refrigerator, Master Dick."

Frowning, he did as he'd been told, opening the door to find a bowl heaped with fresh strawberries. "Oh. Cool. I like fruit oatmeal." He paused. "But Bruce _hates_ it. I mean, not to the point of gagging, but…"

"I've also purchased grapefruit for this morning's repast," Alfred contributed.

"…He doesn't like that, either."

"I am well aware of his dislike for both items. However, that is what is being served."

"So…I'm assuming my punishment is coming at dinner? Let me guess; tofu, but not in a dish it _should_ be in? Like…tofu burgers with bean sprouts or something weird like that?"

"I will be sure to store that away as something you don't fancy for when you require chastisement in the future," Alfred said, sending him an appreciative nod for the help. "However, in this particular instance I think you have suffered enough already. Mind you, I may change my mind once I've heard the full story."

"Mmm," he nodded, going back to the fridge to pick a strawberry out of the bowl. "Bruce should be the one to tell you. He was conscious for more of it than I was. I can always fill in my parts later."

"Whatever you wish, Master Dick."

"I'm going to shower. I'm supposed to meet Gina on the beach at noon."

Alfred arched an eyebrow. "It's still raining, young sir, and you already got quite a soaking last night."

"I'll wear a raincoat. C'mon, this could be my last chance to see her for a long time! It'll probably be four _more_ years before Bruce agrees to another vacation, and I doubt he'll want to come here, that's for sure."

"…Go on, then," the Englishman gave a tiny smile at the boy's obvious desire to see the young lady he'd been courting all weekend. "But do at least _try_ to stay dry."

"Sure. Thanks, Alfred." With that, he bounded off towards the bathroom.

_Well,_ the butler gave an internal sigh of relief when he'd gone, _he seems to be doing much better than I expected after last night's unpleasant alarm._ He had, of course, been able to hear the sobs that had wracked the boy following his dream, and had barely restrained himself from rushing next door to lend a hand in soothing them. Having little knowledge of what had occurred that evening, however, he held back, believing that Bruce was far better suited to address the issue given his greater understanding of the root cause. When he had picked up on the sounds of physical illness, he'd finally allowed himself to move to just outside the bedroom door, wanting to be close by in case it got worse.

From there he had picked up on the vast majority of his charges' conversation, including the shudder-inducing admission of dream-based suicide. _In that scenario,_ he'd realized, _they would both be dead._ It was an extremely disturbing thought, and he'd wrestled with it more or less unsuccessfully for the rest of the night, returning to his bed only when he knew that the other two were both fast asleep once more. _Master Dick is generally much too happy a person for killing himself to seem like a viable option,_ he'd managed to comfort himself sometime around daybreak. _Although if anything could drive him to that point, I imagine the loss of Master Wayne, especially if he felt responsible for it somehow, would be it. I can only hope that such an event never occurs. _ _Heaven knows it isn't wholly unlikely, given their…hobby._

His thoughts were cut off by a heavy tread on the stairs. "Master Wayne," he addressed him as the man descended, rubbing his eyes. "If you would like to take a seat, your breakfast is nearly ready."

"Thanks, Alfred," he yawned, dropping into a chair. "Is Dick showering?"

"Yes, sir."

"…Did he seem all right to you this morning?"

"Considering the dream he had last night, I'd say he's doing remarkably well."

"I thought I heard you just outside the door."

"You did, sir. I could hardly stay in bed and pretend to be oblivious when he was clearly in such emotional distress."

He nodded. "I know what you mean."

"Did he sleep well after your little chat?"

"Oh, yeah. I was kind of a mess afterwards, but he passed right out and stayed that way."

"…I assume that his apparent complacency about his final act in the dream is what disturbed you?" _It's certainly what bothered me,_ he didn't add.

"Yes. Even with it just being a dream, the fact that he didn't really seem concerned about the fact that he killed himself got to me. I don't think he'd actually hurt himself, don't get me wrong, unless he was in a situation like his dream, but I still feel that he should have been at least a little upset about it."

"Perhaps you should address that with him."

"I don't know, Alfred. I don't want to turn him away. He said last night he almost didn't want to tell me that part because he knew it would bother me. I don't want to make him think that he can't talk to me because I'm going to go into panic mode."

"It's a viable concern, especially given his age," the butler agreed. "Such mercurial things, teenagers. Even the steady ones are unpredictable."

"Great," Bruce said sourly, sighing. "…What's for breakfast?"

"I've prepared a light meal due to the late hour and our impending departure. This morning," we revealed, carrying in a plate and setting it in front of the billionaire, "we have strawberry oatmeal and fresh grapefruit." He had to bite his lip to keep a victorious smirk from blooming at the sight of the man's reaction. "I assume you'll be following your usual habit and drowning the porridge in cream?"

"Yes," he ground out, glaring at the food in front of him. _Punishing me by feeding me healthy-but-disgusting foods. That's truly __you__, Alfred._ Gritting his teeth, he started on the grapefruit. _Might as well get the worst part down first._

"Is breakfast ready?" Dick bounced out of the bathroom a minute later. Taking his seat, he grinned as Alfred brought him his food. "Thanks," he said, mixing in the strawberries before he began. "…What?" he asked when he realized that his guardian was flashing a dark look across the table at him.

"You act like you enjoy this stuff we're eating."

"It's not so bad. The strawberries really help with the oatmeal. And grapefruit's good. It's tangy." He took a bite of the fruit. "Wow. This one's _really_ tangy. Holy citrus…" He tucked a bite of oatmeal into his mouth. "But it balances really well with the oatmeal. Try it like that."

He didn't really believe it was possible for the food to be made even remotely palatable, but he obliged him. "That is better," he conceded, then frowned. "What are you doing?" he asked, seeing the teen slip something from his hand into his mouth.

He held up a finger, swallowed, and winced slightly. "Just aspirin. My head hurts a little."

"How many did you take?"

"…Three."

"You're normally allowed two. You know that."

"Well, my side hurts too. Besides, two hundred extra milligrams isn't going to make my liver throw up its hands in defeat. Relax."

"…Ask next time," he directed, pointing at him with his spoon.

"Okay, okay. Jeez, it's just aspirin." They chewed silently for several minutes. "I'm going down to the beach to meet Gina at noon," Dick mentioned as he drew near the bottom of his bowl.

"No you aren't. It's still raining."

"Actually, Master Wayne," Alfred informed him, entering the room with a raincoat and a heavy blanket in his arms, "it's just stopped. I believe the sun may even be trying to come out." Sending Dick an almost imperceptible wink, he set his load down on a chair and vanished back into the kitchen.

_Damn. There goes my excuse for stopping him. _"…Where are you meeting her?" Bruce sighed. He didn't particularly like the idea of the boy going down to the beach alone – _there could be disgruntled elements of LACPOD around,_ his brain insisted direly, _or the thing from the dream could be in the water – _but he knew insisting on going with him would only tick him off.

"By the big boulder where we ran into her before."

"Mm."

"…You're not going to stalk me down there, are you?" he queried cautiously.

"Maybe."

"_Bruuuuce_. C'mon, really? I think I can manage a walk on the beach, don't you? Just…stay here and tell Alfred about last night. Please? It's going to be really weird with Gina if I think you're watching us from the trees or something creepy like that."

"Planning on doing something you don't want me to see?" he arched an eyebrow.

"No," he glared. "Just…I'd like to actually have five minutes with her when no one else is around. That's all."

The billionaire tried to shake his concerns off, and managed to at least get them to recede into whispers. _I haven't showered yet, _he considered._ And Alfred probably won't let us both out until __someone__ tells him the story. _"Stay out of the water," he ordered finally. "In fact, just plain stay away from it. And keep your eyes open." He paused. "What's your story in case you do run into someone and they asked what happened to your face?"

"I fell out of a tree," Dick answered immediately.

"And why don't you have any other injuries?"

"I do. Bruised ribs, and bruised more-or-less everything else."

"…Okay. Good." He gave him a reluctant smile. "Go on, you're going to be late if you don't leave."

"Are you going to tell Alfred what happened last night?" the teen asked as he swept up the items left for him by the butler.

"Yes, I'll deal with the wrath of Alfred," Bruce grimaced. "But I'm coming down to the beach after I'm done. You'd better be there; don't go running off anywhere else without telling me."

"I've got my phone," he assured him, patting his pocket. "See you later."

"Dick?" he called when he heard him open the back door.

"Yeah?"

"…Have fun, all right?"

"I will. Thanks!" He ran then, knowing if he stuck around too much longer Bruce was likely to change his mind. _I get that he's still all nervous about me after last night, but we're safe now. Hell, he said as much himself after my dream._ He shivered, remembering it. _Not going to think about that right now,_ he told himself firmly. _Just going to go hang out with Gina for a while. Everything's fine._

Stepping out onto the beach, he took a deep breath. For all that the rain had stopped, there were still flat, ugly clouds hanging overhead, making the day grayer than he felt like it should have been. A chilly wind blew across the sand, and he found himself wishing he'd worn something heavier. Not wanting to go back at this point, he shrugged his raincoat on and started up towards the boulder.

She was waiting there, staring out to sea with her arms crossed. "Hey," he greeted, leaning against the rock beside her. She turned, grinning, and jumped at him, leaving a hard kiss on his lips.

"Hey yourself," she said as she pulled away. "You're late."

"Sorry. Attack of the overprotective Bruce," he explained.

"Gee, I wonder why? You didn't almost die like a half dozen times last night or anything."

"…I think you _might _be exaggerating that figure a little," he challenged good-naturedly.

"Maybe. But then again, he's probably exaggerating it, too. I thought you might have to sneak out."

"…That probably would have outright killed him," Dick pondered. "Especially if I didn't leave him any clues as to where I was going."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't have to, then."

"Yeah." He looked around. "Do you want to sit on the sand? It's still kind of wet, but I brought a blanket, so that should keep us dry."

"Sure," she smiled. "Let's just put it right here so we can lean against the rock." Spreading it out, they sat, pulling the half of the blanket that they weren't sitting on up over their legs. "Ooh, it's warm," she cooed, snuggling up against him. "This is nice," she said when his arm snaked around her shoulder.

"It is," he agreed. "So…would I be totally killing the moment if I asked what happened after we left last night?"

"…Maybe a little," she rolled her eyes. "But it's okay. You guys left, Denny called the Coast Guard, and then we waited. And waited. We got all of the names covered up, though, in the meantime."

"What are you going to call it now?"

"I dunno yet. I'm still working on that. I want it to be really, really good. Anyway, they showed up like three hours after you left. They wanted to know everything, of course, but I think we held off their questions about you two fairly well. We tried to be as vague as possible about what all happened when you were around. It was great, we all gave them conflicting stories about the 'masked strangers;' I said it was an adult and kid younger than me, Marty said he only remembered seeing one person at all, and Denny swore that there had been two adults. We figured that would really throw them off of your trail, since Lise and that one guard only ever saw your dad."

"Wow. I kind of feel sorry for them," Dick laughed. "All those different witness accounts would really be boggling, especially since there isn't any physical evidence putting us there at all. What about the other stuff? Lise, and Matt, and the plan to get your land?"

"Oh, you should have seen their faces when we laid it all out for them," she giggled. "It was great. Denny was amazing; he told them that his family and the families of all of his officers had been threatened if they didn't go along with whatever Dunaway told them to do and say."

"That was probably true," he informed her. "He told me the same thing last night in the lighthouse, before I even found you."

"Really? Ugh. As if I didn't hate the woman enough already."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. It kills any remnant guilt I might have had about hating my own mother. So, he told them that, and then a bunch of things about Dunaway's plan and how they'd murdered several people already. I gave them Markowitz's gun – I grabbed it while you were fighting him, just in case we needed it – and told them that it was the one that had been used to kill my…my dad, and that it was probably registered to whatever company the guards worked for or to Markowitz himself. We had _just_ said the part about that and Lise killing Uncle Matt when one of the guys they sent to check out the _Irish Mogul_ found Lise and Matt. That was so great." Her eyes were glinting. "Lise was screaming about how someone burst in on them and shot her 'business partner-'" Dick snorted at that "-and then tied her up. They already knew what we were accusing her of, so when they found the gun next to the bed, they didn't waste any time. They cuffed her and walked her off of the boat in that skimpy little thing she was wearing on suspicion of murder."

"Nice!"

"Oh, it gets so much better. That was kind of the high point of things happening on the island. The storm was dying down by the time we finished talking, so the Coast Guard let us drive our boat back to town and just sent one of their little speedboats and a couple of guys along with us to wrap things up. So we get to shore, and there are two FBI agents waiting there. They wanted us to go over the whole thing again, so we did. Then, after we finished up, they said that they've been investigating Savant, specifically Dunaway's section, for over a year now. I guess this isn't the first shady acquisition they've been involved in. They couldn't guarantee anything, of course, but it sounded like Lise and Dunaway are both going away for a really, really long time."

"That's so awesome!" he cheered, grinning at her. _Yes. Gina's safe, the criminals are going to prison…this is a much better ending than I thought we'd have. Batman and Robin can kick ass __anywhere__._

"There's one other thing, too."

"What's that?"

"While we were waiting for the Coast Guard, I remembered that we never got a chance to empty the fish hold. So we popped it open, and guess what?"

"What?"

"The cooler unit had been on the whole time. All of the fish and shark from your charter is still good." She beamed at his delighted expression. "We sent it all off to the processor this morning. You'll have to give me your address so I can get it shipped to you when it's ready."

"That's…that's…oh, man, that's _so freaking sweet!_" With everything else, he had completely forgotten about their catch; hearing now that it was safe and still good, on top of the way everything else had turned out, blew his mind.

"Isn't it?!" she squealed back. "I _knew _you'd like that." They smiled happily at one another for a moment before her face changed into something sad. "…I'm not going to see you for a while, am I?"

"…Probably not," he answered, his own mood plummeting. "It's pretty tough to get Bruce to take vacations. He's got a lot of work and charity stuff going on all the time."

"Oh?" she asked coyly. "No regular father-son activities?"

"Well, we take walks and stuff," he shrugged, trying to relay that night work wasn't something to be talked about.

"'Walks,'" she nodded. "Are they scenic, these walks? Nice views of the city?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes not."

Sensing that she wouldn't get any further details from him, she lifted a hand to his face. "This looks painful," she said, fingering the edge of the bruising.

"It doesn't hurt too much," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. _Thank you, aspirin,_ he thought fervently as her fingers brushed a sensitive spot.

"What about where you got shot? I mean, I was pretty sure he hit you."

"He did. It just mostly got absorbed by the vest. It's okay, too."

"…Can I see?"

"Gina, I-"

Sensing his hesitation, she crossed her arms. "You never showed me your appendicitis scar, either," she reminded him.

"I never actually said I would," he retorted gently. "Listen…if you know too much about who we are when we wear masks, it becomes dangerous for you as well as for Bruce and I. And you don't _need_ to know right now."

"What do the masks have to do with showing me your appendicitis scar?"

"It's not the only scar you'd see," he explained.

"…Oh." She looked out to sea for a long second. "Do you not trust me, Dick?"

"I _do_ trust you, Gina. A lot. And that just makes me even more hesitant to tell you something that could hypothetically put you in serious danger."

She sighed mournfully. "Well, if you won't take your shirt off, will you at _least_ kiss me?"

"What, with no one around to watch?" he joked. "What a concept." He leaned in, and their lips met. _Best. Vacation. Ever,_ he managed to think just before everything – Erwin, Markowitz, Bruce, Alfred, _everything_ – that wasn't the girl in his arms fled his mind.

**Author's Note: One chapter left, wonderful readers!**


	43. Chapter 43

"You're late," Bruce growled when he walked through the back door of the cottage.

"How can I be late?" he parried. "We never set a time I was supposed to be back by. Besides, _you_ said you were coming down to the beach after you talked to Alfred."

"He corralled me into helping him pack," the billionaire grumbled from his spot on the couch.

"Corralled?" Dick grinned. "Or was it more like he implied that if you helped him he might feed us something you consider edible tonight?"

"…The latter," he admitted.

"What did he threaten you with?"

"Nothing in particular, but I'm sure it would have been ungodly."

"Ah, there you are, Master Dick," the butler said as he came downstairs with his bag and accepted the folded blanket from his younger charge. "We were just beginning to worry. You've been gone over two hours."

"Have I?" He looked at his watch. "Oh. I guess I was."

"I assume you had a pleasant time with Miss Graves?"

"Uh…yeah!" he beamed. "We had a really good time."

Bruce got up suddenly and stalked over, suspicious. "Look at me," he ordered, stopping in front of his son.

"What?" he asked innocently, meeting his eyes.

"…You didn't."

"Didn't _what_?"

"You're only fourteen, damn it!"

"Yeah, I figured that out around the time of my last birthday, thanks. What are you talking about?"

"I can smell her on you," he grated.

"Master Wayne, really, is this necessary?" Alfred frowned deeply.

"What do you mean, you can smell - oh," he realized abruptly. Slowly, he began to laugh. "Seriously? Are you really freaking out about this, Bruce? Because that's hilarious."

"This is _not_ funny. I'm seriously considering grounding you."

"We didn't have sex, you overprotective doofus!"

"I – you - what?"

"We didn't. Have. _Sex_," he drew out, wanting to make sure his words were understood this time. "I _did_ get to second base, though." He crossed his arms, still looking amused. "Are you satisfied now?"

"…You wouldn't lie to me about this, would you?"

"Bruce, when was the last time I flat out lied to you?"

"When you went to see the girl in the hospital."

"Other than that."

"December twelfth of last year, when you said you were going to the movies with friends but you actually went to a shady hotel in the red light district to do god-only-knows what."

"Buying your Christmas present," Dick said quietly, examining his fingernails with a smirk on his face.

"…Huh?"

"I was buying your Christmas present," he repeated. "You know, the 15th century misericorde that you like so much you keep it next to your bed? Where did you think I got it, eBay?"

"Yeah, actually."

"I tried that, but I couldn't find one I liked from a seller I trusted. A, uh, friend set me up with the guy I bought it from."

"What friend of yours knows antique arms dealers?" the steel came back into his voice.

"A good friend. Never mind who, it'll just make you angrier." It took all of his control to keep his eyes from flickering over the butler observing them from the bottom of the stairs.

"…I grounded you for going to that hotel," he recalled slowly.

"Yup. For two weeks." He pouted. "I was grounded over _Christmas_."

"I thought you had gone and slept with a prostitute!" Bruce defended himself.

"Nope. Just trying to be nice. And what've you got against prostitutes, anyway? A lot of the ones we've talked to during investigations are nice."

"No Wayne pays for sex," he spat. Seeing that both Dick _and_ Alfred could barely containing their laughter at that, he took a step backwards and held up his hands. "Okay," he said, calming himself. "Why didn't you tell me what you were really doing instead of just taking that punishment without a complaint?"

The teen looked at him as if the answer were obvious. "I didn't want to ruin the surprise, of course! Besides, I kind of figured I deserved it for not covering my tracks better." He shrugged. "Anyway, the point was that I don't generally lie to you. And I'm not lying now. It didn't go any further than feeling each other up. Okay?"

"…Okay. Good. I'm glad."

"…Okay. Good. I'm glad you're glad," Dick echoed him jestingly, sticking his tongue out at him. "Are we ready to go?"

"Everything is packed, young sir," Alfred stated, "excepting these last two items. The car is ready when you both are."

They trooped outside and climbed into the waiting vehicle. Just before they pulled away, Dick sighed.

"What is it?" Bruce asked.

"Nothing. I just…it's nice here, that's all. I mean, almost getting eaten alive – twice – and crazy murderous plots aside, this is a really pretty place. I like it here."

"It is pretty," the billionaire conceded, sparing a glance at the massive trees they were passing. "It's nice to know these won't be replaced with oil wells anytime soon."

"Yeah. It is." He turned to face him, tearing his eyes away from the forest. "I didn't tell you. Gina said the FBI met them at the docks last night. They've been investigating Savant for a year, and were _really_ interested in what had happened here. Lise and Jack Dunaway are totally busted."

He gave him a broad smile. "Good," he nodded. "Congratulations," he added after a pause.

"…For what? I _told_ you, we only went to second base!"

"No," he chuckled. "For Savant. This was a big takedown, Dick. Unless there's some serious mismanagement on the federal level, _your_ investigation will have closed the case on a couple of big-time criminals. Knocking out muggers and stopping rapists is one thing, but this…" He shook his head. "This is major league, kiddo. And it was all you."

"Oh…It wasn't _all_ me," he muttered, blushing furiously under his guardian's blatantly proud gaze. "I mean, lots of people helped, and I definitely couldn't have done it without you..."

"No," Bruce said firmly. "It was you. If you hadn't cared as much as you did, who knows how long it would have been before the FBI got enough information? They may _never_ have gotten enough. But you made it happen."

"I must concur, Master Dick," Alfred contributed from the front seat. "From what Master Wayne told me in your absence, your performance was top drawer. I'm sure that once we've heard the specifics of your solo adventures on Hawthorne Island my certainty about your excellent conduct will only be strengthened."

He thought he might burst. "Thanks," he whispered, turning his head away so that neither of them could see the tears of joy welling in his eyes. It didn't matter that the wider world would never know his part in it all, because Bruce and Alfred did, and that was more than enough, especially if they kept giving him those pleased looks. "That means a lot to me."

"I know, chum," he heard the man seated opposite him whisper as he clasped his shoulder briefly with one hand. "Hey, Alfred? Let's swing into town on our way home. I could go for a frappuccino."

"Ah ha!" Dick exclaimed, grinning. "I converted you! Yes!"

"It's a little sad that you seem more excited about that than about Savant," the billionaire opined.

"Are you kidding? We take down criminals every day. It's _way_ rarer to convince you to do something you don't want to, let alone get you to _like_ it."

"I don't know, your track record on that front is pretty good of late," Bruce reminded him. "You got me to go fishing, and I enjoyed it, much to my own dismay. You talked me into investigating Bryant's murder, and I enjoyed it. Well, parts of it, at least. _And_ you got me into frappuccinos."

"Hmm. You're right. I guess you're getting soft just like Alfred," he added, thinking back to his conversation with the butler the night before.

"I still have time to procure tofu for your dinner, young sir."

"No, you misunderstood! I _like_ the softer you!"

"What about this so-called softer me?" his guardian asked.

The teen considered him for a moment. "Nah, you've still got a ways to go," he poked fun.

"Ha, ha."

They jested the rest of the drive into town, where Bruce ducked into the coffee shop to get their drinks while the other two waited. "Hey, Alfred?" Dick ventured while they could speak secretly.

"Yes, Master Dick?"

"…How long do you think it'll be before we can convince him to take another vacation?"

The butler glanced towards the shop door, then met his eyes in the rearview mirror. "I've already begun taking steps to book rooms at a ski chalet in the Adirondacks for a week in December."

"…He's going to flip if you don't tell him."

"I have an argument prepared, I assure you. You have no experience skiing, am I correct?"

"Nope. None."

"Well, it is something that all young men and women of breeding in Europe, and most in America, are quite familiar with. It would be terribly strange for you to get much older without having at least some knowledge of the sport."

"Nice cover," he grinned. "And _great_ plan."

"I thought you would approve," Alfred gave him a conspiratorial look. "Not a word."

"No way. I wouldn't tip your hand."

A minute later, Bruce opened the door and climbed in. "Here," he handed the boy one of the cups and reached for his seat belt. "You're sure you don't want anything, Alfred?"

"No thank you, sir, I'm quite all right."

"Hey," Dick frowned as they pulled away. "I thought the drinks were to celebrate my investigative prowess?"

"They are."

"…Then why is your frappuccino bigger than mine?"

Bruce took a long, luxurious sip before he answered. "I'm evening the score," he replied. Seeing that the message wasn't getting across, he clarified. "Margie's chocolate cake."

The teen's mouth dropped open. "Okay, I thought _I_ was the youngest person in the car. What are you, ten?"

"The dessert scales are like the scales of justice, Dick. We take it upon ourselves to help them balance."

"…Bruce, dude, I seriously cannot even talk to you right now," he sputtered, laughing. "That's the most ridiculous thing I think I've ever heard you say."

"How's this for ridiculous, then; would you like to own this town?"

"Whoa, wait, _what_?" he laughed harder. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, I guess I don't mean _own_ it, per se," he amended as they pulled out onto the highway and turned towards Gotham. "But if Savant is going down because of the operations Dunaway undertook locally, they'll offload their investments in this area at great prices. I thought maybe Wayne Enterprises could get a cozy little project going to snatch up those properties and revitalize them. Fishing won't work, obviously, since that's the way everything we dealt with this weekend got started, but this would make a nice tourist spot. Knowledgeable local charter operators, unusual beaches, nice trees…I'm not an expert, but it seems to have potential." He looked over at him, reading his stunned look. "If I put together a small board and a couple hundred million in seed money, would you head it? Try to turn this place around?"

"Are…are you kidding me?"

"Call it an extracurricular activity. Besides, you swore under oath that you want to be my business partner in, what, less than a decade? You've got a _lot_ of experience to get under your belt before I could really consider your application for that position," he teased. "This seems like a good way to start."

"…You're _not_ kidding," he breathed. "You're _totally serious_ about this, aren't you!?"

"All of your decisions will have to be approved by me before they're put into action, but I imagine Lucius will keep the absurdity to a minimum."

"I get to have Lucius on my project board? Sweet!"

"The first thing to know in business, Dick, is how to turn a profit. If anyone can teach you how to do that, it's Lucius. Hell, he's the one who taught _me_."

"Bruce, do you realize this has been, like, the most amazing weekend anyone has ever had?"

The billionaire smiled. "I'm glad you had a good time in spite of everything, kiddo," he said. "We'll have to do it again sometime soon. Although I don't imagine you'll want to come here on vacation again. After all, you'll have to visit fairly often for the project."

"How often?" he asked eagerly, eyes lighting up as he thought of Gina. _She's going to love this,_ he thought.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe once a month at first, once things get past the paperwork level. Then you might only need to come up once a quarter."

"Once a month is good," the teen said quickly.

"Yeah, I didn't think you'd object too strenuously to that."

"…Did you mean the other thing you said, though? About taking another vacation soon?"

"Yes. I did. Despite everything, I had a fun weekend. Terrifying, but fun."

"Meh, that's the way you like your fun anyway."

"Sometimes." _Not when it involves you hanging off of a boat over a shark,_ he didn't tack on. "Start thinking of ideas, Alfred will need time to book everything."

"Sure," he grinned, meeting the butler's eyes in the mirror for just a moment. "I've got one or two ideas already…"


	44. Epilogue

_Six weeks later_

"Did you do your homework?" Bruce asked, his shadow falling over where Dick was sprawled in the leaves that dotted the back lawn of the manor.

"It was easy," he answered. He set his phone down on his stomach, and the billionaire felt safe in guessing that he'd been reading a new email from Gina before he'd come up. "Want to sit for a minute?"

"I have a meeting at seven."

"Eww. Evening meetings."

"Time zones," he shrugged. "It can't be helped." Still, though, no one would die if he was a few minutes late, and they'd both been so busy these past few weeks... Considering that, he took a seat on the grass. "How are your classes?"

"Meh. You know how the first few days are. All 'here's the syllabus' and 'let's review' and 'this is an advanced class, which means it will be _challenging_.'" He laughed shortly. "As if. The only thing that might not be a breeze is physics, and that's just because I'm so used to thinking about it spatially rather than formulaically."

"Alfred said you got your AP scores from last year back."

"Yup. Four fives." He shoved both fists in the air. "Take that, standardized testing! Bite me, minority achievement statistics!"

"…Do you even qualify as a minority?"

"Apparently. That whole half-Gypsy, formative years in a traveling circus thing did it for me. It sure wasn't the circles I marked in the personal information section that said 'Caucasian,' 'male,' and 'family income exceeds $250,000 per year.'"

"How did the testing board know about that, though? Don't those tests get sent out to be graded?"

"Yeah. They didn't tell me about the minority thing. The school counselor did. She wanted to have a special meeting to inform me that I'm a statistical anomaly." He rolled his eyes. "Because, you know, I thought _tons_ of kids had seen their parents murdered only to get swept up by a rich person until she told me different. I'm sure she was just trying to be nice and encouraging, but wow was it annoying."

"No kidding." He was a little ticked that the counselor had been so presumptuously stupid, but he let it go. "So what's on the plate for this year?"

"Physics, the next level of calc, computer science, French, and US History. They let me out of English this year. A couple of my teachers are already trying to get me to take a couple of classes up at the university in spring, but who has time for that on top of everything else?"

"You're pretty busy," Bruce agreed. It was true; between school, the new project at Wayne Enterprises, and expanded Robin duties, he was beginning to wonder if he would get to see the kid out of costume for more than five minutes before Christmas.

"Approaching Bruce-grade occupation," he grinned. "I think you've made me into a workaholic. That's okay, though, I love it." His phone buzzed, and he glanced at it briefly before typing out a response. "So what's up with you?"

"Busy. The same as always," he sighed. "This social season is going to be the death of me, I swear. Gordon is already talking about making this year's Police Charity Ball the biggest ever."

"Does that mean I might get to _go_ to this one?"

"Nope."

"But I'd have a date and _everything_!" he protested, holding up his phone.

"Still no," he reiterated gently. "I told you the first time you asked, you can't go until you're sixteen. That's Gordon's rule, not mine, so you can't hold it against me." Hearing a frustrated sigh, he changed the subject. "How's Gina?"

"Pretty good, now that they set a trial date for Lise and Dunaway. I guess they're flying her to Metropolis to testify. She's really excited, she's never been to a big city before. She said Margie's nervous, though, especially since she's going to be starting her new job right after they get back."

"She has a job now?" the billionaire asked, a little surprised.

"You obviously haven't looked at the proposal we sent up on Tuesday," he said with mild reproach. "One of the first things we decided to do was build a decent hotel. There are a couple of bed and breakfasts in town, and a few places like the one we rented, but not much other than that. It's pretty hard to get tourists to go out of their way to a place where they can't spend the night easily, so that seemed like a priority. We're really pushing to have it open by next spring. Anyway, I suggested we make Margie the pastry chef. Gina said she started crying when she told her about the offer."

"…I thought everything was supposed to be cleared through me first?" Bruce frowned.

"She's local, and they need the money since they were granted custody of Gina. You've had her cake, Bruce. Can you really think of anyone else better suited to that position?"

"No, I can't," he admitted. "You haven't hired anyone _else_ for this thing I haven't approved, have you?"

"No, but we did put out a general call for local laborers and craftsmen. Oh, and we're extending Marty and a couple of other local fishermen loans to help them set up official charter offices on shore for next summer. We started designing ads to get some hype going in the travel media, too." He smiled bashfully. "Lucius said you wouldn't mind."

"…You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"The project, or mildly pissing you off by not waiting for approval?"

"Both."

"Yeah. It's really awesome to know that this is helping so many people, you know? And I know you don't mind as much as you're making it out that you do," he nudged him.

"Just turn me a profit before you graduate high school, okay?" He thought for a moment. "No, that's not reasonable at the rate you're tearing through classes. Turn me a profit before you graduate college, and we'll call it good."

"What're you going to do if I don't, disown me?" Dick jested. He blanched slightly when the man beside him didn't reply. "Uh, that was a joke."

"Was it?" He smiled to show he was kidding, and saw the teen visibly relax. "You know better than to think I would. I wouldn't be very _happy_, but I wouldn't _disown_ you." _I couldn't do that._ "Besides, it's really in your best interest to make money rather than lose it. Fifty percent of the net income will go into your trust account, so…"

"Seriously? You don't have to do that. I'm having fun, I don't care if _I_ make money."

"Well, I do. You're earning it, you should have it." He paused. "When's your first field visit?"

"About eight weeks out. Gina's ecstatic."

"Alfred's going with you, right?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, he already said he's going to leave you plenty pre-made in the fridge. The last thing Gotham needs is a hungry Batman."

"That would be ugly."

"Tell me about it. Speaking of a certain formidable duo," he arched an eyebrow. "What time are we going out tonight? It's Friday."

"When I get back from my meeting and eat. Then we'll go. Have you picked a weekday yet?" He'd allowed a slight change in Robin's patrol schedule this year, permitting him to go out on one school night per week provided that his grades didn't suffer.

"I think either Tuesdays or Wednesdays will be the best. Homework levels have been historically low on those days."

"Sounds good. Being able to switch between the two if needed will be nice."

"I thought so. Anything big on the table for this weekend?"

"Pezzoli's been running his drug rings from prison."

"Really? Interesting."

"He's got a big shipment coming in tonight, supposedly."

"I'm listening."

"Half a million worth of crack."

"Becoming more intrigued by the second."

"The guy running it is his cousin. From what I understand, he was a frequent patron of Roxane's, but his name never made it on the lists for family reasons. He should be there tonight." His old hesitation about mentioning anything having to do with Erwin had more or less vanished in recent weeks as the teen's nightmares had mellowed. Markowitz had haunted him for a short time after their return home, but lately even that specter seemed to have faded somewhat. _He's probably so damn tired by the time he makes it to bed each night lately that he's not even __having__ dreams,_ Bruce reflected.

"_Now_ I'm excited." He grinned. "Are we going to have to fight over who gets to pummel him? Because I have to admit, I think you cheat when we duel for beating rights."

"No, you can have him. One of his goons who's supposed to be helping with the offloading is a dealer I've been wanting to get my hands on for a while now. I'll take him instead."

"Awesome. What time does this all go down?"

"Twelve thirty."

"So…we'd still have time for a quick warm up spar before we go out?"

Bruce smiled. True to his word, Dick had been spending as much time training as he could. He'd been a good fighter before; lately, though, with the added motivation of wanting to eliminate situations in which his mentor might feel the need to sacrifice himself for his benefit, he'd inched into what even Batman had to admit was the 'impressive' category. "Think you've got a chance this time, do you?"

"Maybe."

"I think your confidence about school is going to your head," he threw in lightly, taunting him.

"…I've got a new move," the teen smirked slowly. "I'm pretty sure I invented it, actually."

"Oh?"

"It's super effective."

"How do you know, if you haven't tried it on anyone? I haven't seen you use any new moves in the field."

"Just a hunch. A really, really strong hunch."

"Well, we'll just have to see where it goes, then," he grinned at the challenge.

"Yeah. We will." He peeked at his phone. "Don't you need to go? You're going to be late."

"I should." He stood up and stretched, feeling lighter following their chat than he had in days. "You should come inside before Alfred kills you for not wearing a jacket."

"Yeah, you're right. I'll walk you in," he said, jack-knifing to his feet.

"Show off," Bruce shook his head with a tiny smile.

"Like you don't do the same thing. I _know_ you flex when a girl grabs your arm at a party." Silence. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Besides, I'm warming up."

"Going down to the cave?"

"Yup."

"Don't wear yourself out before tonight."

"Oh, I won't." They reached the back of the house and parted. "Have fun," Dick said sarcastically.

"Just you wait, kiddo. When we're business partners, I'm sending _you_ to these meetings in my stead." Raising his hand in a brief wave, he vanished around the corner of the house before a retort could be launched.

Dick groaned at the prospect, then looked down as his phone buzzed again, announcing a new text from Gina. _Didn't you say you have an uncle or something in Metropolis?_ the message read. _Only I was thinking you could come down for a couple days while I'm there testifying…I already know I won't get Margie out of the hotel room to do anything without a second person to keep her from somehow getting mugged from both sides at once._

He beamed. "Hey Alfred," he asked, swinging inside and down the hall to the kitchen. "Do you think Bruce would be mad if I went to Metropolis for a weekend next month?"

"Have you asked him about it?"

"Not yet, no."

"Hmm." The butler paused in his slicing of potatoes. "I don't imagine it will cause him more than a passing discomfort, but you may wish to engage Mister Kent's help before you broach it to Master Wayne."

"But you're okay with it?"

"Provided you take your homework with you and are sure to complete it in a timely fashion, I see no cause for concern. I'm sure Miss Graves will also have schoolwork to attend to."

"…How'd you know Gina would be there?"

"Oh, I suppose it was just a lucky guess, young sir," his mouth twitched upwards.

A slow grin spread across the teen's face. "Coolest butler ever," he complimented, hitting a button on his phone and listening to it dial. "Hey, Uncle Clark? Yeah, right, Alfred barely manages that…I was wondering, could I crash on your couch for a couple days next month? A friend of mine from out of town is going to be in Metropolis, and she wants to hang out…yeah, she…yeah, Bruce knows about her. He doesn't know that I want to go to Metropolis to see her, though. You'll like her, she's awesome…Really? Sweet! Thanks!...Yeah, no problem. I'll clear it with Bruce first." He laughed. "Yeah, I probably _will_ have to call you to get your help convincing him…sure. Yeah, dinner would be cool, I feel like we hardly saw each other when you were here…oh wait, that would be because we _didn't_…" He laughed again. "No kidding, right? Okay. Okay, cool. I'll email you the flight info once I have it. Thanks, Uncle Clark. Yup, see you then."

"All settled, then?" Alfred asked.

"Nothing left but Bruce and a plane ticket. And with the troops amassed, it should only take a week or so for Bruce to fold." Bouncing on his toes, he tapped out a quick reply to Gina.

_All wrapped up but a certain overprotective billionaire. *Wink* See you there._

**Author's Note: First off, thank you all so much for reading, and double thanks to those of you who have been so kind as to review. I have received several queries as to whether or not Gina will reappear in a later story, and after giving it some thought I do believe that she will. I hope that everyone enjoyed the ride; I know I did. Happy reading. :D**


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